






























'% c*" 


s' S "yf^^A *1 V 

;cy v <• ' ' fl * '<fi , o N f ' * Y b " -0 <•- v 1 H * 

C» < ^iT /7 Pr> ^ 13 X O v V /y??-2~^ ^ 


»- ; >C fSjy ° . Vl 

sgi<% » ^ 

Z v T 

c 5 > 


it it 




. *'■'• '-’) ip '</■* ,^ N 

tev 7 . / ^j 5 v 


^ V 

o 0 


«\ \D * , 

^ <•'*, v b. * 
’* s'^w 7 


v a' 

s' '0 ^ f a * \ * 

0 > <s ' 1 » * ^ 

0 " * r%»* v a 


X aft 

,\A 

•.< / • 


-Wx. £ C 

'X. - 

} / - <x rv 

^ ^ 0 v 0 ‘ < 0 ' 

> ' . X 

mm*- %<&’ - 


\°°<. 





■ / c " ' \>>' ! •/, ’ ' 0 »'*«, '•-%. 

■ ..vV-%^ Agjtf: %/ .*;;^ % 

§- XX -.lElf - <$% '.to; X *v 

^ . ■ v*,w,* ,*» «• 's&rs .. 

s\' '• Xo ' *“ •//' 1 * * X °" ' ^ 





X - * f r ^ - 

if 4 ■ ^ v 



y / \0 'f, 

J& ' 


rO" <• ^ 1 h 4 

0 ° o ^ v 



X • -• / f, 


T> 

OV v 1 * < X 
rS . s -v V- 


,0 o 



O 0 


\ 


\ oV *T. * ,. f 0 

"* v> V ,>**< 



V\ t 

/ C k \ » S 

A//r * t/> oN X x 

y ^ V 

7 


O . * y - 

\ % v * , , *>. ♦ 0 V 0 ’ ^°' - A 

K ’* " ^ % ' °/ c* 

* .p. 'V s ^ *- * 


* ., V ,> , v.-' ,, ^ 


fi I \ 



/ 


vY 


<< ; » , - v y * 

' - Xv. A -■ £$ 

r| ss w *y- , f% 


\ 



\ 


* 


A 


\ 


\ 


* 




■%- «? " .* 0&U % • % ^ 

V ./,. ; i h: ' ; .-, X •: \ 



,; p ✓ ^ 

„ '••‘"V ..«c/V ' * 
*, ^> •# *<• << 

* o' oS 

A > * V, tl . 

t ^7 : \° o*. . - 



’bo' 








N x Vv,_^- 

a> ^ v * p .0 

/ s ».., e.. *"'» ,/ 

v ;W- " ,<*■ <- r 

**>> dT’ 

v 






a>‘ </^ 
.\v ^ 


> </> 




* ^ ^ ^ A X Y- 

* 0 * *■ * .0 x J -/. / 7 * * s S *s° 

^ vy X 0 ' o. . 0- x 0 

y V-' .x 







.0 o 




0 9 V 


3° c 6 ' 

»'*«/■ -/ c- 
* 

^ c , ^ . 

® ^ - 


c ^ ' 

J *V Ni 

o ^ -4 "-P ✓ 

/ « • ^ .A O, -v 

a A X c 0 N 0 * ^ o. 

,\ <x e-^ ^ 

offl^ ' '*■ v ; “w 

^ ^ a 


^ v n 





■> 


1 A 




c '• ?sy 

> oV 4' \ *> ^ 


| V * i^’\ > :: l/.% O "\, ^ 

ip^ i ,f /> - \ -f ~ <$> ^ 

x . '*^<> ^ N . V 

A ^ 0 t s 50 ^ 






t' s' ate-ZJ^P^, 















































■> 








k 










fi 


^Of[\ai}ee of tl?<? 
dpp<?r aijd 


Society Q-ust — 
Ui^der. 


o O0 oo 0 oo 0 oo 0 oo 0 oo 0 oo 0 oo 0 oo 0 oo 0 oO 0 oo 0 oO 0 oo 0 oo 0 oO 0O o 0O o 0O°0 

ooftoo^c^ojfoofioojractfoospoto 

ooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOoouooOooQooOooOooOooOooOooOooQc 



BY 


T. C. DeLEON, 

AUTHOR OF “CREOLE AND PURITAN,” “FOUR YEARS IN REBEL 

“CROSS PURPOSES,” ETC., ETC. 



CAPITALS,” 


• 

. 































V . . 





% i 




















J U N Y : 


OR 


Only One Girl’s Story. 


A ROMANCE OF THE SOCIETY CRUST- 
UPPER AND UNDER. 


J/.., 




•J 


By T. C. DeLEON, 


AUTHOR OU 


“'CREOLE AND PURITAN “ FOUR YEARS IN REBEL CAPITALS” 

“ CROSS PURPOSES Etc., Etc . 



MOBILE, ALA.: 

The: Gossip Printing Company. 



TZ3 

( 'D3T7Ju 



i 




s. 



» 


Copyright, 1889, 

BY 

T. C. DeLKON. 


Ale Rights Reserved. 




c 







* 













TO THE 


Gentle “Autocrat” of American I*etters, 

©litres ^oltnz&y 

as Slight Acknowledgment of the Deep Debt 
Owed Him by all who Read, 
and Especially by all who Write, 
in the South. 


si 


V 



CONTENTS 


PAGE. 

I. — The Coyote and his Mate 7 

II. — The Shiners’ Gae 17 

III. — Reveeation ! . 25 

IV. — Juny Accepts an Invitation 31 

V.— Judge Lynch hoeds Court 37 

VI. — Among the Personaes 44' 

VII.— The Beossom of the Bud ’. . . . . 51 

VIII. — A Very Odd Visitor 57 

IX. — A Dramatic Leading Man . 62 

X. — An Art Evoeutionist 70 

XI.— Mutuae Recognitions 77 

XII.— On the Traie 84 

XIII. — Landeord and Tenant 96 

XIV. — Some Domestic Matters . . . 105 

XV. — At Tompkins Square ... 111 

XVI. — Greek meets Greek 118 

XVII.— A Society Object Lesson 126 

XVIII.— The Spider, or the Fey? 135 

XIX. — GiRE and Gire • 142 

XX. — A Ceue Perhaps 148 

XXI. — Off the Track 153 

XXII. — Doctor and Patient 158 

XXIII. — A Giddy Game of Draw 165 

XXIV.— Stiee on Watch 172 

XXV.— Waiting ! 180 

XXVI.— A Gire’s Resoeve 185 

XXVII. — Dress Rehearsae 189 


( 5 ) 


6 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 


XXVIII. — A Morning Alarm 195 

XXIX.— A Brute’s Demand 201 

XXX.— At Browne Beach 209 

XXXI. — With Hands Bound 214 

XXXII. — “Touching her Oee!” 220 

XXXIII.— To the Rescue 225 

XXXIV.— The Voice on the Water 229 

XXXV. — Into the Jaws of Death ! . . . . 235 

XXXVI.— Coming Together 239 

XXXVII. — A Mother’s Picture 244 

XXXVIII. — Another Tittle Game 249 

XXXIX.— Knotting the Threads 254 

XL. — The End of a Confession 260 

XLL— Evasit ! 265 


JUNY: 

OR ONLY ONE GIRLS STORY. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE COYOTE AND HIS MATE. 

An afternoon of mountain midsummer. 

The greenish-blue distance of the Alleghany chain, tem- 
pered softly by slant rays of a low-descending sun; the 
nearer peaks standing out — one might poetize — bold senti- 
nels before a dimly marked line-of-battle of the Titans. 

Tow, rosy clouds float close down, behind the distant 
range ; but shaggy, tree-crowned crests of nearer spurs sug- 
gest easy foothold for those ambitious giants, whence to 
charge the blue vault, close o’ertopping them. 

A soft, pulsing haze tones the whole grand picture, spread- 
ing away as far as eye may reach. Fleecy patches of mist 
— thick-rising at first as carded wool — spread out above into 
fan-shaped, smoke-like drifts ; resting still upon the air and 
marking the open glades, or smaller water-courses, beneath. 

Closer in, the dark mountains, bearded with pine and 
laurel and chestnut-oak, dip down into cup-shaped valleys — 
or “coves ; ” some losing themselves in black shadow, some 
dotted by open pasture-land, with here and there red gashes 
of ploughed field. 

Through the nearest “cove” the little river — low now 
from summer drouth — straggles feebly over its rock-spread 


8 


JUNY: OR ONL Y ONE GIRL'S STOR Y. 


bed ; now marking but a steely thread, now chafing itself 
into frosted silver in the shallows. 

Hicksville, the metropolis of Black Mountain, was seated 
high upon that “ backbone ” ridge of the Alleghany ; almost 
equally claimable by Tennessee and North Carolina, so near 
is it to the borders of both. Not a very populous center, 
even at that date, close post-bellum , its site might vainly be 
searched for to-day, even on the best-intentioned local maps. 
Then its edifices numbered a tumbled-down blacksmith shop 
— presided over by a lank, claybank-colored “covite,” when 
there happened work enough to heat his forge and not 
whisky enough to heat what stood with him for brain — a 
“schule-house,” even more tumbled-down than the smithy; 
and an inn, misnamed “The Rest,” save for the truth that 
there was no more of the village. 

This resort of infrequent passers and of the sparse 
population of self-styled miners was fronted by a wide, low 
“stoop,” running its whole length, and upon this gave all 
four of its low, dingy and unswept rooms. In them were 
performed every function of the hostelrie, bar-tending, lava- 
tory, sleeping and the preparation of scarcely doubtful repasts 
for occasional customers. 

Here and there around, on the crests of lower ridges, rose 
the smoke of shanties, more or less distant from this central 
group ; themselves wide enough apart to make a loud hail 
necessary to attract attention. 

“ The Rest ” itself was perched on the knob of the ridge, 
overlooking the cabins and the coves below ; and behind it 
was cleft, by some immemorial spasm of nature’s breast, a 
ragged jawed canon of some fifteen feet in width, but gap- 
ing sheer down in blackness and gloom for ten times that 
depth. Over this gulch was improvised a rickety bridge 
of two light planks, held in their places by wooden pins, 
not too securely driven into the light soil of the rock. 


THE COYOTE AND HIS MA TE. q 

Garden, or enclosure, the inn boasted none of ; the only 
growth being the sere mountain grass and straggling tufts 
of brush and laurel. 

Jack Rudd, the Hicksville mine host, was scant pattern of 
the landlord, in the Rabelais view. Six feet two of tough, 
hard muscle, tightly stretched over huge bones, terminated in 
great red hands and feet that filled ample raw-hide boots ; and 
the whole was topped by a not very inviting face, redeemed 
by the bold, blue stare of its eyes. And just now, Jack 
Rudd seemed in no very cheery mood as he lounged toward 
the cliff’s edge, and continued his talk with a long, thin 
negro man of that uncertain age, never betrayed in his race 
by reddened eyeballs and semi-grizzled hair. 

“An’ so ye’ doan like th’ Coyote thar ? ’’ Rudd queried, 
as he twisted off a huge segment of black tobacco with his 
strong, yellow teeth and stuffed the remainder in his hip 
pocket. “Ye say ye doan like ’im ? ’’ 

“ No, I don’ lik’ um ) Jesso, Morse Rudd, jesso ! Leas’ 
ways, Henry Washington Clay don’ say as he don’ like 
Morse Kyle Hardy ; but den he ain’t a-spilin’ on him, 
’nuther, sho’s yo’ born.’’ 

“ Waal, /ain’t a-spilin’ on him nuther, Clay,’’ the white 
answered. “But then ye’ know, Kyle Hardy’s been a 
smaart chance useful ter we hones’ miners in these yere 
mountings.’’ 

“Miners! Jesso, Morse Rudd, jesso ! Yah — yah— yee- 
ah ! ” guffawed the negro, striking a match on his thigh 
and holding it to his black clay pipe. ‘ ‘ Dem is miners sho 
’nuff; and dem leetle jimmyjons wot dey digs up ! Yah — 
yah-yee-ah-h ! ’ ’ And again the negro’s guffaw trolled out 
cheerily, its prolonged finale blowing out his match — “Pre- 
haps dey’s filled wid winegur, dem jimmyjons— prehaps 
dey’s filled wid merlassus, an’ prehaps dey ain’t ! How- 
somdever, dey’s/z*//,wen dey lebesdese hills, sho’s yo’ born! ’’ 


IO /(/NY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 

“Waal, miners, ur shiners, it doan’ make no differ,” re- 
sponded Rudd, grimly. 44 By th’ Tarnal, we’ uns is got tur 
live some way, law ur nuther ! An’ Kyle Hardy’s ben a 
right smaart chance o’ use tur we’ uns, ef he be a gambolier. 
But that pard o’ hisn, he’s a nice pill ! He’s a sweet ’un, is 
ole Jackpots !” 

4 4 Jesso, Morse Rudd, jesso ! Dem do say he war chrissom 
Morse Tip Miles, but dey’s name him ole Jackpots ’long de 
ribber, ’cos he radder scuffle de kyards dan eat ! An’ fore 
de Lord, I bleebe he would, sho’s yo’ born ! ” 

“Right ye be, Clay,” Mr. Rudd answered, turning his 
head and squirting an amber stream toward the inn, “An’ 
them two stran-gers, as strayed onto th’ Rest las’ night, they 
hev met a nice par ! ” 

“Jesso, Morse Rudd, jesso,” returned the negro. “An’ 
dey’s oncommon lucky, dem is, ef dey don’ strike two par, 
wid de odd one in de sleebe, fo’ dey’§ don’ ; jesso !” 

44 Waal, I reckon yer mebbe right,” Rudd answered, as he 
turned and strolled toward the slender bridge. “I’ll jes’ 
keep a’ eye on th’ Coyote ; fur I won’ stan’ no queer game 
foolishin’ on a stran-ge r at th’ Rest. Ye look arter them 
trav’lers, Clay, wile I call up ther hosses fur a feed. Sure 
the’re restid enuff now fur a start ! ” And the lank landlord 
strode over the shaking planks and was lost to sight behind 
the sides of the jutting fissure, into which they fitted across 
the canon. 

The old negro lit his pipe and puffed slowly as he mumbled : 

“Jesso— jesso ! Dem’s allers up ter sharp wuk, dey two. 
Howsomdever, ef dey don’ mek mistek wid dat young gent, 
den, Wash Clay, yo’ dun gone wrong fur wunst ! Hello ! 
Wa’s dat ? Suffin’ dun gone wrong dar a’ready, sho’s ” 

High voices were resounding from the inn, and Henry 
Washington Clay’s soliloquy was cut short by the swinging 
open of the door. Stepping from it came a tall, swarthy 


THE COYOTE AND HIS MATE. 


II 


man, with ugly scowl on his rather handsome face. Well 
dressed and graceful, he looked the gentleman. Rapidly 
followed a lithe, sinewy young fellow in undress cavalry 
jacket and riding boots, his fair face flushed, his gray eyes 
flashing with anger. Restraining him, by grasp upon his 
arm, was an older man of dignified port, also in riding cos- 
tume. 

As this trio crossed the porch and stepped upon the ground, 
slowly shuffled after them a snuffy, dingy man with flaccid 
face, lit by twinkling keenness of eye, and an atmosphere of 
shabby gentility all over him. 

Anger plainly ruled the first three ; but there was a slimy 
sort of nonchalance about the last comer hard to define. 

4 ‘ Only one explanation need be given in such a case, ’ ’ the 
young officer was saying. “We stop the game because we 
think we have cause ! ” 

“ I do not understand your manner, sir ! ’ ’ retorted the tall 
gambler. 

“Then I’ll make it understood. We were foolish to play 
cards, even to kill time, in this hole. You and your fellow 
cheat — Drop your hand ; qiiick!” he interrupted himself as 
his revolver flashed out. 

Kyle Hardy, known as “The Coyote,’’ seemed a man of 
action rather than words. As the other had spoken, his right 
hand slipped swiftly toward his hip-pocket; as quickly it 
fell back to his side as the officer added : 

‘ 4 1 have served too long at the frontier not to know the 
brand on cattle like you ! ’ ’ 

“Steady, Wilmot, my boy,’’ the older stranger interposed. 

4 4 You may be rash. Why our little game was so small that, 
without proof ’ ’ 

“Proof!” answered the younger, “Why, uncle, I dis- 
carded the ace of clubs ; next moment it showed as one of the 
three in the hand of that quiet gentleman there !” and he 


I2 JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 

pointed with his pistol at the snuffy gambler. Promptly 
that worthy slid behind his confrere of the dark moustache ; 
and, from that coigne of vantage, he half stammered : 

“ Well, it must have been — the most singular accident ! 
But I — don’t remember !” 

“Well! What are you going to do about it?” sneered 
Hardy, in bravado. 

“Iam going to denounce you- both to these honest people 
up here, ’ ’ the young officer answered coolly. 

“ The people ! Oh ! you are?” sneered the other. 

“I am. You are not fit associates for these hard-work- 
ing miners,” the soldier retorted. 

“ Oh ! They need your Sunday-school, eh ?” Hardy said. 
“And pray, who are you, that they’ll take your word?” 

The older traveler moved coolly between the men : 

“He is Lieutenant Wilmot Beverly Browne, Twelfth 
United States Cavalry,” he said. “I am Colonel Randolph 
Baylor, retired.” 

The tall gambler started at the name, staring hard at the 
speaker. Then he turned away with the muttered oath : 

“ Damn him ! and he does not recognize me, yet!" 

“ Belated yesterday, crossing these mountains,” the colonel 
continued, “we stumbled upon this singular inn — ” 

“And now, that we have had full enough of it,” put 
in Lieutenant Browne, “may I return your question and 
ask — who the devil are you V ’ 

A strange smile — showing his white, regular teeth, under 
the jetty moustache — flitted over the gambler’s face. He 
stared absently at the older soldier, seeming to forget his 
nephew’s presence ; but his snuffy partner now sidled to the 
front, seeming about to speak. Then Hardy stopped him 
with a quick gesture. 

“I am Captain Kyle Hardy,” he said boldly, “a 
gentleman living on my means.” 


THE CO VOTE AND HIS MA TE. 


13 


“And your friend, I presume,” Wilmot Browne replied, 
“ is a gentleman of ways and means ?” 

“ I believe I am a gentleman,” Tip Miles said, with his 
peculiar hesitation. “But about my means, I — I don’t 
quite remember.” 

“ Come ! We’ve had about enough of this !” Hardy said 
roughly. “You are not our judges, nor are we in the 
witness-box. If our answers don’t suit, we’d better leave 
it to this jury !” 

He tapped his pistol with a bullying gesture and Browne 
advanced a step toward him ; but the colonel calmly inter- 
posed with : 

‘ ‘ Tut, my boy ! This game is not worth the powder. 
We can afford to let these ‘ gentlemen ’ take their own course, 
while we take our horses and leave this delectable inn.” 

“As you prefer,” Hardy replied, insolently; and he passed 
his arm under his companion’s. ‘ ‘ Come along, Tip ; we can 
afford to leave these high-headed Virginia gentlemen ! ” 

Miles followed — half-dragged and with evident reluctance — 
staring hard at Colonel Baylor, as he answered his compan- 
ion in deprecating whisper : 

“ I thought it was safe, Kyle; but I don’t— quite remem- 
ber. I’m so hard up ” 

“ For brains ! ’ ’ the other finished brutally. ‘ ‘ Your clum- 
siness disgraces the profession ! But come along ! I’ll make 

it warm for these high- toners, who’d expo.se us to the 

miners ! ’ ’ 

Wilmot Browne looked after them, an amused smile re- 
placing his late frown, as he said, cheerily: 

“It was rather hard not to teach that black-browed bully 
a lesson, Uncle Ran. But, as you say, a row here would 
not pay. And here’s another native,” he added, turning to 
Washington Clay, who watched the altercation with interest. 
“ Do you belong here ? ” 


I4 JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 

“I ’blongs to de Lord, Morsa — Jesso, jesso ! ” Clay replied. 
“My boss he dun gib Wash he freedum fo’ de wah. An* 
sides dat, Morse Linkum, he dun manserpate me sum mo’ ! 
But Wash, he don’ git so much hog an’ homly lik’ a use to, 
sho’s yo’ born ! ” 

“Here’s a sample of the result precipitated by the procla- 
mation,” Will said to his uncle. “Say, Wash, I suppose 
you believe in evolution ? ’ * 

‘ ‘ Yes, Morse Nevee, ’ ’ the black answered, gravely. ‘ ‘ Yes, 
I bleeves in dat; but I don’ quite ’stan your ’spression ob 
de subjec’! ” 

“So you are content,” the colonel said, smiling, “not to 
know Darwin ? ’ ’ 

“Jesso, Morsa, jesso ! ” Wash answered, quickly — “but I 
does know ’im! Yah, yah, yee-ah ! I knows him well! 
Only I ain’t seed him roun’ bout yere lately.” 

“And you revert to your ultimate forefathers?” Browne 
asked, gravely. 

“ Wy, bress yo’ sole, honey, Wash ain’t never had no fo’ 
faders! One daddy 'nuff fur him , sho’s yo’ born! Yah, 
yah yee ah ! ’ ’ 

“Well, you are the happiest citizens of this country, 
nevertheless, ’ ’ Colonel Baylor said. ‘ ‘ That was you singing 
awhile ago, was it not?” 

“Jesso, Morsa, jesso,” the negro answered, gravely. “ Dat 
wor a hymin I wor singin ’ ; a hymin my breddren is a-sing- 
in’ all ober dis lan’.” 

“Well, while we wait for the horses, sing it again,” 
Browne said, with thumb and finger in vest pocket. 

“Jesso, Morse Nevee, jesso,” Clay answered. “Wash 
kin sing ; but jess now I’se got a so’ fut an’ de roomatiz 
dun git in de roof o’ my mouf. But,” he relented, as the 
young man held up a shining half-dollar, “Wash kin try, ef 
Morse Nevee ensist on ’em ! ” 


THE COYOTE AND HIS MA TE. 


15 


Then, with the air of a society tenor at Mrs. Knicker- 
bocker’s five-o’clock tea, and with solemnity befitting the 
“hymin” his fellows intoned “all ober dis lan’,” Wash 
began. And he sang in pleasing voice and good time, but 
drawing out into quaint melancholy the last word of every 
other line, and the refrain : 

Ole nigga wukkin’ on de lebbee, 

Wukkin’ all de d a y! 

Fur a fo’ punce! 

Totin’ in de coffy an' de shugga 

Fur mitey leetle p a y / 

Fur a fo’ punce! 

But de Lord he mitey good to he nigga, 

Fur all d a 1! 

De Lord gib he nigga hominee 

An’ possum f- a 1! 

Fur a fo’ punce ! 


Hoeiu’ in de cornfiel’, cuttiu’ shugga cane ; 

Wukkin’ in de sunshine, wukkin’ in de rain — 

Wukkin’ like de debble, wen he want to play — 

Lissnen’ fur de dinna horn, so he git away — 

Fur a fo — o—o y punce! 

The singer came to a sudden stop, deep solemnity making 
his face shine. Then, gravely, he took a few quaint steps 
of a double-shuffle, patting his thigh to time, ere he broke 
out again : 

Ole nigga wukkin’ on de lebbee, 

Wukkin’ wile de sun so h o if 

Tinkin’ all de time ’bout he Dinah, 

Cookin’ de cowpeas in de p o 1! 

Fur a fo’ punce ! 


i6 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


M . 


But de Lord Him lub he nigga mitey well, 

Fur all d a 1 ! 

De Lord Him kuow he nigga by de smell, 

Fur all d — a — t ! 

Fur a fo’ punce ! 

Hoein’ in de cornfiel’, cuttin’ shugga cane ; 
Wukkin’ in de sunshine, wukkin’ in de rain ; 
Wukkin’ like de debble, fur mitey leetle p — a — y y 
Lissnen’ fur de dinna horn, so he git away — 

Fur a fo' punce ! Fur a fo — o — o’ punce / 



Q 


THE SHINERS' GAL. 


17 


CHAPTER II. 

THE SHINERS’ GAE. 

“Bravo! Wash. You are a singer!” cried the young 
lieutenant, tossing him the coin. 

“ Jesso, Morsa, jesso ! ” the black answered. “Wash kin 
sing, but Lor’ ! Yo ’ jes’ ought’er heah Juny ! ” 

“ Juny ? Who is he ? ” Browne asked. 

“Jesso, Morsa, jesso,” Wash repeated, “Juny kin sing,, 
sho’s yo’ born !” 

“But who is Juny ?” persisted the colonel. 

“Juny ? Who Juny ? She my chile. Ideas’ ways she ent 
nobody chile, ’cept’n all de men in de camp, Morsa ! But 
Wash, he dun tuk car’ o’ Juny mos’ways, ebber sense po’ 
Higgins die, de fuss ob dis yeah ! ” 

And, as though in response to the gentleness that crept into 
the old negro’s tone, a clear, strong girl-voice came floating 
over the canon, in the refrain of a rude camp song. 

“Jesso, Morse Nevee, jesso ! Lissen’ to dat ! Wa’ I tole 
yo’ ? Da’ chile cummin’ now ; an’ she kin sing, sho’s yo’' 
bom ! ” 

“ So Juny is an orphan girl you take care of ? ” the colonel 
asked. 

“Lor’ bres yo’, da’s so, Morse Kurnul ! Leas’ways Juny 
tek keah ob me. An’ yeah she be ! Cum yeah, chile ! Cum 
yeah ! Yah ! yah, yee-ah ! ” 

Over the frail bridge, with lightness of the mountain doe, 
bounded a tall, wild-looking child of some thirteen years ; 
shoeless and hatless, with her coarse, ill-made dress clinging 
to the slender limbs as she ran. Masses of shining brown 
hair crisped over her broad, fair forehead and streamed back 


j 8 JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 

on the wind ; and a lissome grace of movement dispelled all 
idea of coarseness that might have risen at sight of the tanned 
hands and freckled cheeks. 

“ By jove ! A perfect mountain elf!” the colonel ex- 
claimed. ‘ ‘ What an honest face ! ” 

‘ ‘ And honest figure ! 5 ’ Browne added. ‘ ‘ Arithmetic 
would be worth study, were figures in society as free as that 1 ’ ’ 

The girl ran straight to the old negro, pushing back the 
massed hair from her forehead with both hands and gazing 
at him with real affection in her honest eyes. And the 
hands, as the city men noted, were slim and taper, for all 
their sunbrown ; and the eyes were meaningful in their blue 
depths, while fearless as those of the panther whelp. 

“You bad ole Uncle Clay!” she cried in clear, musical 
voice, not belonging to the “ covite ” nasality of those 
mountains — “ I was jest waitin’ to catch you ! Snakes ! 
but won't I give it to you fur not cornin’ home to git no 
dinner! Now, ye’re laffin’ ! Ye’re not mindin’ me one 
bit !” 

“Jesso, chile, jesso ! yah! yah ! yee-ah !” shouted the 
old negro. “Wa’ I tole yo’, Morse Nevee ? See how dis 
chile tek car’ o’ dis ole nigga?” 

The girl quickly turned to the strangers ; shyly, but with 
no awkwardness and again pushing back the masses of her 
hair with both hands. 

“ Lor’ ! Uncle Clay,” she said reproachfully, Ye hadn’t 
orter ask the stran-gers ! ” Then, staring at Browne an 
instant with the frank honesty of childhood, she whispered 
to the negro : “Snakes ! Ain't he good lookin’, though ?” 

“ Wilmot,” Colonel Baylor said seriously, “what it is I 
can not define ; but something in that child’s face draws me 
strangely to her.” Then, holding his hand to her, the old 
gentleman asked gently : 

“ And so your name is Juny ?” 


THE SHINERS' GAL. I9 

She came forward frankly, but with nothing of bold- 
ness ; and, putting her hand in his, nodded brightly as 
she answered : 

“Well, yes — I reckon !” 

“ A pretty name, but strange,” he said, still gazing into 
her face. “ How did you get it ?” 

“ Dunno, stran-g<z r. It was give to me, I reckon. But 
that ain’t all of it,” she added. “ Juny’s only the short fur 
Juniata,’ ’ 

“ But what is your other name ?” Wilmot Browne queried 
curiously. 

“Snakes, stran-ge r!” the girl answered, somewhat bash- 
fully, as her eyes fell before the bold gaze of the young 
soldier. “ How many names do ye’ reckon a gal child orter 
have ?” 

“But how old are you, Juny? ” Browne persisted. 

Again the girl shook her head, pushing back the fair hair 
from her face. 

“Dunno,” she answered simply. “Reckon I’m ’bout 
twenty, or ten ! ’ ’ And once more she whispered to the 
negro : “ Snakes ! but do?i't he talk smooth ? ” 

Just then Mr. Tip Miles ambled alone around the corner 
of the house. The girl’s face w T as full toward him, the 
sunset glow warming its sunbrowned tint and filling out its 
lines of over childish thinness. He stared at her; passed 
his hand across his eyes, as to aid some dull memory ; then 
staring again, muttered : 

“Wonder have I ever seen that kid before? Must have 
seen her ; but I can’t — quite — remember.” 

And the snuffy gambler turned an attent ear toward the 
group, as the colonel spoke again : 

“ But, my child, who were your parents ? ” 

Juny shook her head, puzzled ; then a merry smile showed 
all her white teeth, as she answered : 


20 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


1 ‘ Donno, stran-ge r ; guess I ain’t never had none.” 

A quaint satire on a smile crossed the listening gambler’s 
face, as he muttered again : 

“ She and I are twins ! I never had any either.” 

“ But who brought you up ? ” Wilmot Browne queried. 

She looked at him with the same bright smile ; admiring 
honestly. 

‘ ‘ I wasn’ t never brought up, ’ ’ she said naturally. ‘ ‘ Reckon 
I jest tumbled up. Uncle Clay looks out fur me, mor’n the 
rest, ever sense po’ Higgins was shot. That was when th’ 

soldiers tried to take the shiners’ ’ ’ She stopped short, at 

a warning sign and dry cough from Wash Clay, adding 
awkwardly : 

* ‘ When the — a — miners was — an’ Higgins died that night. 

4 And who was Higgins?” the colonel asked. 

“ Wy, he was my daddy ! Ueastways, he was the only 
daddy I ever had, I reckon.” 

Will Browne laughed merrity, saying to his uncle : 

‘ ‘ Pretty difficult climbing, that family tree ! ’ ’ Then turn- 
ing to Juny, he asked: 

‘‘Will you sing for us ? I know you can, for Uncle Wash 
told us.” 

The girl had echoed his laugh merrily ; her face brighten- 
ing into almost beauty at reflection of that inner sunshine. 
She answered promptly : 

“ Kin sing, stran-ge r? Well, I reckon—/*?.?// I know lots 
an’ lots o’ songs; but sometimes, when I sing, it makes me 
sorry sort o’; kind o’ takes me home — only I ain’t never 
had no home ; an’ no mother ’n father, ’cep’n Uncle Clay 
an’ poor Higgins! ” A shade passed over the sunny face as 
she spoke ; and Tip Miles — shuffling a noiseless step nearer 
— took himself into confidence by the muttered remark : 

“ She growed and growed of herself, just like a Jackpot! 
But whar in thunder have I seen the kid ? ” 


THE SHINERS' GAL. 


21 


Old Clay put a hand of gentle encouragement on the girl’s 
shoulder. 

“Go ’long, chile; go ’long an’ sing fur Morse Nevee, 
wen he ax ’um ! ” 

“That I will, Uncle Clay,’’ she answered cheerily — 
“ I’ll sing my bes’ song, ’cos th’ ole man seems sort o’ sorry 
and ’cos ” — she tipped up on the little bare toes, whispering 
close in the black ear — “ cos — snakes! the young *un’s good 
lookin’ ! ’ ’ 

“That’s right, Juny !’’ Browne encouraged, apropos to 
the unheard whisper. “Sing your best song and I’ll have 
something for you. ’ ’ 

The child turned quickly, facing him as he pulled a bright 
•coin from his pocket. Suddenly the light fell out of the 
little face, leaving it grave and stern ; the brow darkened 
and the features older-seeming than before. Even the voice 
changed to a cold, childish treble that retorted : 

“ I don’t want it ! I shan } t sing — there ! Say, stran-ge r, 
we’s po’ folks an’ don’t have good clothes an’ things, up 
here ; but, snakes ! we ain’t a begginh” 

Browne moved a step toward "her ; but she answered the 
movement sharply : 

“I was goin’ to sing ’cos you was kind an’ gentle — so dif- 
ferent from th’ shiners ! But now, I ’ ’ 

She paused abruptly; the thin little lips quivering, the 
blue eyes brimmed with tears. But a strong effort — empha- 
sized by a quick stamp of the slim, bare foot — dammed the 
flood behind the curved lashes ; and she turned away with a 
childish flirt of the scant petticoat. 

“Go ’long, chile! Wa’ de matter now? Go ’long an' 
sing fur de gemmen, sho’ ! ” 

Whatever Clay’s influence, it was powerless here. With 
another stamp and a short— “ I shan't! There ! "— Juny 
marched to the low porch, with a magnificent assumption of 


22 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


carelessness, and, sitting with her back to them, became 
absorbed in contemplation of a rent in her skirt. 

Wilmot Browne looked after her, with much irritation at 
his own awkwardness. 

“She’s as independent as her own mountain air ” he 

began, adding suddenly: “ Heaven ! Uncle, what’s wrong ? ” 

Colonel Baylor, gazing steadily at the girl, threw his hand 
to his head as the young man spoke. A deep red flush rose 
to his brow, and, with heavy eyes and a half gasp, he leaned 
on the other’s shoulder. 

“Nothing, a little dizziness,’’ he answered, after a deep 
breath. ‘ ‘ One of my turns, from the heat, perhaps. But, 
Will, that child’s face somehow recalls the saddest memories 
of my life. Just then, as she gave you that look— why, 
heaven only knows — the eyes of John Harrington seemed 
to come between and stare at me ! ’ ’ 

“Harrington ! That clerk of yours who was drowned in 
the Gulf? Come, uncle,’’ Will replied, cheerily, “brace 
up and banish these ideas ! Brooding on them only makes 
you ill.” 

“ I try to, my boy,” the dlder man answered slowly, “ but 
they will return sometimes.” 

“ Well, come into the shanty and pack the saddle-bags,” 
his nephew answered. “The landlord has gone after the 
horses and we’ll be off soon.” 

As the pair passed, arm in arm, under the low doorway, 
Miles shuffled down nearer to the girl. 

“By the ’tarnal Jackpot!” he muttered, “the old man 
is the same. Her brother, if I’m a living sinner ! Well ! 
If accident can’t stock the cards and deal out the darndest 
combinations ! To meet him this way ! And my botherin’ 
’bout this gell ! It’s too much for Tip Miles ! Say, little 
’un,” he added aloud to Juny— “you’re a good gell ! ” 


THE SHINERS' GAL. 


23 


“No, I ain’t!” Juny flashed round upon him, still, pout- 
ing and with red eyes— “I ain’t, ’cep’n good fur nothin’ . 
Higgins allers said so ! ” 

“Well, then, Higgins was a dod blamed jackass! ” Mr. 
Miles asserted calmly. 

“Snakes! stran-ge r !” retorted Juny, springing up and 
facing Miles so fiercely that he recoiled. “Ye dunno wot 
ye’re say in’ ! Higgins wus my daddy ! He wus my only 
daddy an’ — I — loved ” 

•- The little brown hands unclenched as the flood of recol- 
lection swept away anger. They closed softly over the hot 
face and the many-sided struggle culminated in tears, as the 
child threw herself face-downward on the grass, sobbing 
bitterly. 

“Phew! She’s a hot one!” Miles muttered.* Then he 
sidled over to Wash Clay, who was hoisting mysterious sig- 
nals with his black pipe. 

• “ He warn’t her daddy, ’tall, Morse Jackpots,” the negro 
said. “ Higgins wor engineneer on de Ribber Queen wen I 
tote wood fur ’er, enjurin’ ob de wah. Den wen de wall 
bizness dun brek up, me an’ Higgins we moobe roun’ de 
Juniata Gap, yonner.” 

.' Clay waved his hand as though the Pennsylvania stream 
flowed through, the cove below them. 

“ Dere we start a timber choppin’ an’ mek raffs an’ float 
’um down to de Susquerkanner, sho’s yo’ bom ! ” 

“ Well, whose child is she, anywa3 7 ? ” Miles asked. 

“Jesso, Morse Jackpots, jesso. One cole nite in de fall, 
jess twelbe year ago, de win’ blow so hard me an’ Higgins 
go down to de ribber to tie up dem raffs more tighter. An’ 
dere — rite ’mong dem logs wus a-layin’ a gal-chile, ’bout a 
year ole. Lor’ ! Morse Jackpots, how dat chile wus a-squallin’ ! 
Yah ! 3'ah ! yee — ah ! She wus squallin’, sho’s yo’ born.” 

“ And that is the girl ? ” Miles asked, curiously. 


24 


JUNY; OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


‘‘Jesso; da’ she. We tek ’umup to de cabin an’ raise 
’um ebber sence ; an’ Higgins, he name de gal Juniata, arter 
de ribber were we fin’ ’um ; an’ da’s de troofe.” 

With both hands in his pockets — perhaps for lack of 
other’s to put them in — Tip Miles seemed lost in a brown 
study. At last he came out of it, muttering — 

“ May I be shuffled and cut for a misdeal, if I understand 
it all. Old Jackpots to cotton to a stray kid picked out of a 
raft ! But there is something in her eyes brings back the 

old days before I was the castaway wretch I am ’ ’ He 

checked himself suddenly. ‘ ‘ Tip Miles, may you lose the 
pot on a full, if you ain’t growing as soft a flat as everjfflody 
plays you for ! ” 

He shuffled nearer the child. She was quiet now, and the 
old negro had squatted by her side, patting her gently with 
his horny hand. 

“ Dere now, honey ! Dere now ! Yo’ jess cry yo’seff to 
sleep. Jesso, chile, jesso. Yo’ see, Morse Jackpots,” he 
continued, rising, ‘ ‘ she dun cry ’eseff to sleep. But Higgins 
wam’t her daddy mor’n you. Now, yo’ jess leff de chile 
’lone, yo’ heah ? ’Cos she ain’t yo’uns and she’s de shiners’ 
gal, sho’s yo’ born ! ” 

And with the injunction, Clay marched off into the house, 
as if it had been Delphos, and he the Oracle. 


REVELATION / 


*5 


CHAPTER III. 

RE VEXATION ! 

The snuffy gambler became a changed man, as he looked 
after the negro. The slouched form erected and the bleared 
eyes glowed, as he muttered through set lips : 

“ It I am right ; if this Baylor is the man, and my pal is 
John Harrington, I’ll hold the age, if I stock a new deck to 
get it. But now, to hide the brains under the deck, ’till I 
need the ace of sense, hid in my sleeve ! ” 

With the words still on his lips, the man’s stoop returned 
and he stood stupidly awaiting the rapid return of the other 
gambler. 

“Well, Tip,” Hardy said, as he came up, “I’ve been 
busy undoing some of the mess made by your cursed stu- 
pidity. But, damn me ! if I can see how you let that young 
tenderfoot tumble to your game ! ” 

“Why, Kyle,” the other drawled, “what is poker with- 
out three aces ? And that little club just fit my hand. But 
I don’t quite — remember.” 

“You never do, at the right time,” Hardy growled. 
“ But never mind their hands now, for their heads are in 
danger. I swore I’d fix these Virginia bloods ! ” 

“You said you’d raise the shiners ! Miles cried, quickly. 

“ Oh \ You remember, do you ? ” Hardy glanced keenly 
at him, but added carelessly: “Well, I did it! The word 
is now going round that they are U. S. detectives ; that 
they’ve tumbled to the mining racket and are here to locate 
the secret stills.” 

“ And the boys believe it? ” Miles asked, anxiously. 


26 JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 

“Why shouldn’t they?” the other answered. “I’ve 
taught them to trust Kyle Hardy before to-day. You see 
the sun nearly down behind the trees? Well, as the moon 
rises, Judge Lynch will swing our friends from the tree there, 
over the gulch.” 

“You’ve done that?” Miles cried, naturally. “You 
would murder these men ’cos they caught me cheating, and 
- — ” he checked himself suddenly— “ and, I can’ t quite 
remember. ” 

“Yes; for that and more: ten times more!” Hardy 
answered with an ugly scowl — “ For what is sweet to man 
and woman — revenge ! ” He turned away, striding about a 
moment, then added : 

“You can’t remember ; but it’s relief to tellitnow ! Long 
years ago — before I knew you — before cards and drink made 
me what I am — I loved a pure, true girl. She was different 
from all other women — May Redfem ! ’ ’ 

Miles stared straight at the setting sun. Perhaps it was 
the red reflection that dyed his brow and .shone in liis eyes, 
as his lips formed the soundless word — “May! ” 

“She was an orphan and alone,” Hardy hurried on. 
“She might have married me, had not this cursed Baylor 
cut in, with his uniform and old Virginia blood! He never 
knew that his war clerk, working with him only to be near 
his wife ; and for revenge, if chance served — was his rival, 
John Harrington! ” 

Again the other’s lips formed the name ; but the sun, now 
sunk behind the trees, left his face ashen. 

. ,But Hardy, plunged in vindictive memory, did not note, 
as he hurried on : 

“Well, just after the war, in New Orleans, he publicly 
discharged me, for cheating at cards. Twice he, had 
wronged me; stealing my sweetheart, then my reputation. 
Shortly after — as if in judgment on him — she died.” 


REVELATION / 


27 


Again the white lips in Miles’ ashen face moved. This 
time, Hardy caught the words: 

‘ 4 She died — poor May! ’ ’ 

“What do you mean ! ” he cried, in genuine amaze. 

Tip Miles turned away his face. He answered very slowly, 
but in his old manner : 

4 4 1 must repeat — so I — can remember! ’ ’ 

4 4 Then listen, ’ ’ Hardy growled. 4 4 After that New Orleans 
grew hateful to me. I sailed for New York, and on the 
very steamer — by what priests call Providence — there was 
her ’ ’ 

An eager gasp, that will could not repress, broke from 
Miles ; and on it came the words : 

44 Yes ; on that steamer was the ” 

He checked himself quickly ; but not before Hardy — 
recalled from memories by the tone — had bent his piercing 
gaze upon him. But Miles bore it quietly, and the other 
only snarled : 

44 Well, damned if I ever knew you interested in anything 
before ! But, Tip, you must be precious fond of me to — re- 
member ! The rest is soon told. A Norther came, and 
every soul on board was drowned !” 

Miles drawled out, with face averted still, but in his old 
tone : 

44 Every one drowned ? I don’t — quite remember !” 

44 Yes ; every one,” Hardy answered, with an ugly laugh. 
44 Jack Harrington went down with the rest ; and when they 
picked up a nearly dead man on a spar, his name was Kyle 
Hardy ! After that, I went from bad to worse, till I met 
you. That settled it ; there was no worse than that ! Old 
Ba}dor thinks me dead long ago. Time and beards change 
boys. But the old account between us stands open ; to-day 
adds interest to it ! Moonrise will give me a receipt in full : 
the shiner’s short shrift, and the spy’s tree !” 


28 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


The dusk began to grow grey ; and through it Tip Miles 
looked like a statue of ashes. Face and form were perfectly 
still, but a strange gleam played under the drooped eyelids; 
and — as Hardy took a sudden turn of several steps — a 
stealthy hand crept to Miles’ breast. 

“ I could cut his cold heart out !” he muttered to himself, 
behind set teeth. “But, no! Steady, Tip, and wait! 
’Tain’t your deal -yet!" 

Far over the eastern crests, the light grew slowly white ; 
and the distant tree-tops caught faint tips of silver, as the 
full moon rose behind the screening mountains. The gam- 
bler waved his hand toward the light, calling the other to 
note it, with a joyous oath. 

Whether roused by his voice, or waking naturally, the 
sleeping child stirred and lazily rubbed her eyes, as the ex- 
ultant gambler again turned toward Miles. 

“ Took, Tip ! Yonder she comes ! ” he cried aloud. “ Ten 
minutes more will see her ladyship’s face as broad as silver, 
and then come the shiners ! He shall die the spy’s death, 
this lofty Colonel Baylor! And, Tip, I’ll kill him, body 
and reputation. vSee here ! ” 

With the haste of hate he tore open his vest, drawing from 
an inner pocket a long and time-stained pocket-book. 

“This went down in the gulf with Jack Harrington, but 
he willed it to Kyle Hardy, and all his hatred with it,’’ he 
went on, rapidly — “These are army blanks, the receipts 
signed by Randolph Baylor for expected stores. These were 
not received ; he ordered them destroyed. But I kept an 
eye to windward and these blanks with it. Washington 
departments now have detectives hunting up the cotton 
thefts of the year after the war. These signatures are the 
death warrant of Baylor’s reputation. Over them I’ll fill 
up receipts for thousands of bales never accounted for by 
him, claim the reward and deliver them to the Auditor ! ” 


REVELATION / 


2 9 


Exulting, Hardy turned toward the eastern light, now 
high and broad in the sky behind the peaks, the tree- tops 
standing out against it in black and ragged silhouettes. And 
again, Miles’ hand, creeping toward his breast, dropped to 
his side, as he muttered: 

4 4 Not yet ! Not till I get those forgeries ! ” and, he added, 
aloud — 4 4 So, Kyle, you mean to murder these travelers ? ” 
The girl, now awake and risen to her elbow, caught the 
words clearly, her eyes wide with dismay. 

4 4 Murder ! ” she whispered to herself — 4 4 the ole stran-ger 
and the good lookin’ young ’un ! Snakes ! They shan't ! ” 

4 4 Randolph Baylor and his pretty nephew shall swing at 
moonrise from yonder limb ! ” Hardy answered, brutally — 
“ But we’d best vamos and keep dark till the shiners come. 
Hear that?” 

And, as he spoke, Clay’s voice rose from the inn with the 
endless refrain : 44 Fur all d-a-t ! Fur a f 0-0-0' punce / ” 
Miles looked around. The inn was still and dark, one 
blinking dip showing dull through the window of the trav- 
elers’ room. The full, round moon, white as burnished 
silver, had popped up over the black tree-tops, flooding the 
foreground with light as clear as day, brighter from the 
heavy shadows still resting on the canon and the little bridge. 
And, taking in all this, Miles muttered to himself : 

44 Can I warn these men in time? They may escape 

By the ’tarnal Jackpot — the kid ! ” 

For his eye fell upon Juny, crouching close in shadow of 
the low porch ; only the small face touched by the moon- 
light, and its eyes glowing like coals toward Kyle Hardy, 
following him like a wildcat’s without motion of her head. 
Miles caught her notice, made a swift gesture, then pressed 
his finger on his lip. 

One quick gleam of intelligence shot back to him. Then 
Juny’s face sunk naturally upon the porch ; her eyes closed, 


3 0 JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 

as if in heavy slumber. And seeing this, the snuffy gambler 
moved gradually nearer to the child, speaking slow and 
clear — 

“ All right, Kyle,” he said. “ Let me see. The stills are 
warned that Baylor and his nephew are spies ! The shiners 
are to hang them to the spy’s tree at moonrise. And there 
is nobody to warn them ! ” 

Hardy stared at him in surprise. 

“Why, damn me! if you don’t remember for once,” he 
said with a hard, ugly laugh. “ But, now you’ve got your 
memory, you’re not safe out of my sight. So, come along.” 

“All right, Kyle ; I’m coming,” Miles answered, shuffling 
along behind the other. 

As they turned the corner of the inn and passed into the 
shadow, he turned once more. 

Juny had crawled, swiftly and noiselessly, around the edge 
of the low porch. Her body was in darkness, only brow 
and eyes visible above the ledge. But the eyes were as fulj 
of intelligence as of fire, and the little head nodded thrice — 
so rapidly that the fair hair flickered and glowed in the 
moonlight, as though belonging to some mountain gnome. 

Over the still mountain-top the white light poured, 
peopling the rock-bastions of the slim bridge with shadow- 
sentinels. 

Through the dead stillness battered and crashed the voice 
of Wash Clay in the “hymin” that his fellows were in- 
toning “ all ober dis lan’.” 

And the snuffy old gambler, slouching listlessly along 
behind his pal, took it all in with one vivid backward glance 
and muttered softly to himself : 

“Now, Jack Harrington, the hands are dealt, but Tip 
Miles holds the age ! ” 


JUNY ACCEPTS AN IN VITA TION. 


3 * 


CHAPTER IV. 

JUNY ACCEPTS AN INVITATION. 

When the figures of the two men faded to nothingness in 
the gloom of the house, Juny rose from the ground. 

Over the childish face was the shadow of a great horror ; 
but through it gleamed the stronger light of a fixed purpose. 
She stood still an instant, the little brown hands twisted hard 
together. Then she cried : 

“Wot kin it mean? Murder them stran-ge rs / Hang ’em 
by lies ! Snakes ! but they shan't ! Not if Juny kin stop 
’em!” 

Suddenly the little face — drawn and hardened in its excite- 
ment and wrath — softened and quickened, for the old negro’s 
voice rang out close at hand, in the endless refrain, as his 
lank figure, from the shadow, moved into clear moonlight. 

“ Oh ! Uncle Wash ! Uncle Clay ! ” the child cried, run- 
ning to him and seizing his bare, black arm in pretty impa- 
tience, ‘ * Who is they ? Quick ! Who is them men ? ’ ’ 

“ Wa’ men ? Dem ? Dem two gwine yonner ? Wa’ yo’ 
want Tong o’ dem men, chile ? ” 

“ But tell me : Who is they ? ” And the little hand patted 
the sinewy arm in eagerness for reply. 

“Jesso, chile, j'esso,” the black answered deliberately. 
“ Dem men’s spotes, dey is, sho’s yo’ born ! ” 

“Sports! Gamboliers?” the child asked, catching her 
breath. 

“Jesso, chile. Dem’s Morse Kyle Hardy, wot dey calls de 
Kioty, an’ Morse Jackpots Miles.” 

. ‘ ‘ And bad men ? Rale bad ? ” she urged. 


3 2 


JUNY: OR ONI Y ONE GIRDS STOR Y. 


‘ ‘ Rite yo’ be, chile. Dem’s frum de O-hi-o ribber, an’ dey’s 
sho’ nuff bloods, dem — rale spotes ! ” 

“ Then lissen, Uncle Clay — lissen good ! ” The little form 
was trembling with eagerness, but her voice had never a 
quaver in its clear ring. “ I lieer’d ’em talkin’, an’ the’ say 
the black ’un has ’formed on th’ ole stran-ge r an’ the good 
lookin’ ’un ! He tole the boys they was guv’ment spies ; an’, 
Uncle Clay, th’ shiners from th’ stills is cornin’ to lynch ’em, 
an hour by moon ! ’’ 

“ Wa’ yo’ say’n, chile?” cried Wash, wide-eyed with sur- 
prise. “ Wa’ yo’ talkin’ ? Gwine ter lynch Morse Kurnul 
an’ Morse Nevee ? ” 

‘ ‘ That’s wot he said — the black ’un ! And the t’other he 
made a sign to me to lissen ; an’ he spoke it all over ! ” the 
child answered, confidently. 

“ Well, hit jes do beat de debble, sho’s yo’ bom ! ” 

“Wot kin we do? Oh, Uncle Clay, wot kin we do?” the 
child pleaded eagerly. 

The negro scratched liis head slowly as he answered : 

“ Da’s wot’s a-puzzlin’ dis ole nigga’s currayneeyum dis 
berry minnit ! ” 

Juny watched him nervously ; glancing at the moon, now 
hanging her globe of silver well above the trees, her small 
hands twisted tight ; but suddenly they unclasped and 
Juny clapped them together as she cried : 

“I got it, Uncle Clay ! I got it ! You run an’ saddle ther 
bosses. Run quick an’ lead ’em roun’ th’ valley road be- 
hind th’ bridge! There!” And the little hand pointed 
command ful toward the frowning bastions of rock, glooming 
over the canon across the little foot-planks. 

“Jesso, chile, jesso,” the old man answered, quickly. 
• 4 ‘ Pa’s de bess we’uns kin do.” He started toward the canon, 
paused and asked : “ Took a-yeah, chile, who gwine to warn 
dem vonner?” 


JUNY A CCEPTS AN IN VITA TION. 


33 


“I’ll do that,” the mite replied, bravely. “You run, 
Uncle Clay ! Run fas’ as you kin , or the shiners ’ll git here 
’fore you.” And pushing the old man with eager little 
hands, Juny saw him started, then turned herself toward 
the house in a rapid run. Suddenly she stooped, seized an 
axe lying against the porch and ran back, dragging it after 
her. 

“ Better do this ’fore any come,” she panted, hacking with 
axe, short-held, upon the wooden pegs that braced the 
planks. Rapidly, but laboriously, she moved the pegs ; and, 
breathless now, ran back toward the house, rapping sharply 
on the door. 

‘ ‘ Colonel ! Mister ! I say stran-ge rs, come out here, 
quick ! ” she cried. 

“ Who calls ? ” the colonel asked, throwing open the door. 
“ Why, child, what is wanted ? ” 

‘ ‘ Snakes ! I reckon you is ! ” answered the child, panting 
with haste and exertion. 

“Will, my boy, come out here,” the older man said. 
“ Something seems wrong.” 

“Well, I reckon ther’ is /” Juny whispered, with wide 
eyes. ‘ ‘ Say, you mus’ git out o’ here quick ; you an’ the 
good look’n ’un ! ” And as Browne came on the porch she 
approached him timidly, put her hand on his arm and looked 
up piteously: “Go, quick ! please go,” she pleaded. “Ther’ 
ain’t no time to waste to save yer lives ! ” 

“Save our lives!” the young man echoed. “From 
what ? ” 

“From hangin’!” Juny answered. “From lynchin’ by 
the shiners from the stills ! ” 

“Moonshiners !” the colonel exclaimed. 

‘ ‘ Um — um / ” panted the child, nodding her head. * ‘ Them 
miners roun’ here’s all shiners. Them sports tole ’em ye be 
’formers ; an’ ther’ cornin’ to hang ye on the spy’s tree.” 


3 


34 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


“Ah! They are?” Will Browne answered, coolly, as he 
slipped out his revolver and tested the chamber. 1 ‘ But two 
can play at that game.” 

“No! Quit it! Ye can’t,” Juny remonstrated rapidly. 
‘ ‘ Ther’s too many o’ them, an’ ye’re only losin’ time. I 
tell ye, ole man,” and she turned pleadingly to the colonel, 
“ the’re desperate men an’ll take desperate chances. Snakes ! 
I knowjw ain’t o’ the runnin’ sort,” she added, confidently 
to Will Browne, ‘ ‘ but now ther’s nothin’ else ; ye must run ! ” 
“The child is right, Will,” Colonel Baylor said, quietly. 
“Fight is good, when it can win; flight is better, if one 
must. ” 

‘ ‘ Hear him, stran-ge r! ” the girl cried, clinging to Browne’s 
arm — “Ye ain’t no coward, I know; but the ole man’s 
right, sure ! Cross that bridge ; Uncle Clay ’ll hev yer 
bosses ready ’hind them rocks. Take the river road an’ 
ride straight to moonrise, and three hours ’ll see ye safe in 
the settl ^-ment ! And — Snakes ! I’ll never see ye’ no more ! ’ ’ 
Will Browne looked at the child, surprise and admiration 
struggling in his eyes, as he put his hand on the bright hair. 

“What! Run off and leave you, Juny!” he said. 
“After saving our lives, at such risk ! Why these ruffians 
would take their spite out on you ! ’ ’ 

She shook her head confidently. 

“Snakes! I’m the shiners’ gal, I am,” she said. “Wy, 

. stran-gox , / ain’t afeared on none o ’em ! ” 

Suddenly Colonel Baylor stooped impulsively and kissed 
the girl’s brow. 

“But, you come with us, Juny,” he said, “ and we will 
take better care of you than these men. You are too brav.e 
and honest to be left with ruffians like them. Come ; be 
my child, in the place of one I lost ! ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Yes, come ! ” Browne repeated. “You shall have every- 
thing you want ! ” 


J UN Y ACCEPTS AN IN VITA TION. 


35 

J uny was silent an instant ; her gaze on the ground, 
the thin brown fingers twisting and untwisting. Then she 
raised her eyes doubtfully to the old man and they wandered 
wistfully to Wilmot Browne. 

But she drew back a step and answered bravely : ‘ ‘ But 

I don’t want nothin’ cep’n to see ye ’uns safe. Please go ! 
Please do!” she added, entreatingly. “ Th’ shiners 11 be 
here, ef ye don’t !” 

“ Then you come with us,” the colonel answered. “You 
say you want nothing. My child, you want care, education, 
dress — everything that love can give !” 

Again the little brown hands laced tightly together, as 
though to crush irresolution. 

“ Clay loves me,” she said loyally — “ I won't leave Uncle 
Wash ! ” 

. Will Browne looked at his uncle. Then he said : “If you 
will come, Juny, Wash shall come, too. Shall he not, uncle ? ” 

“ That he shall ! ” the old man assented warmly. “ The 
extra horse can carry him and you can ride behind Will.” 

“So come, Juny — my child !” 

“I reckon — I — can't!" she answered, wavering. 

They were nearly at the bridge. Will seized both her 
hands impulsively, as he cried : 

“ Will you come, Juny ? Your answer decides us !’’ 

But for reply, there rose from under the hill behind the 
inn a hoarse murmur, as of many voices. Even the swish of 
many forms breaking through the brush, came to the sol- 
dier’s practiced ear. 

‘ ‘ Quick ! Th’ shiners is cornin’ ! Over the bridge or ye’re 
gone, sure ! Careful ! Th’ planks is loose ! Keep ’hind 
them rocks till Clay sings ; then throw the planks in 
th’ gulch an ’ — git J I’ll hold off th’ shiners !” 

On the narrow planks, in the bright moonlight — the black 
canon yawning beneath him, Wilmot Browne stopped still. 


I 


36 JUNY f OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 

“ I can not leave you to such danger,” he said. “ I swear 
I will not go, unless you go, too. Juny, will you come ?” 

“ I dunno, slran-ge r,” the child began, hesitating. “I 

reckon mebbe I’ll Hear ’em ! Quick ! Git across ! 

Snakes ! I’ll come, too ! Hide ’hind them rocks !” 

It was none too soon that he obeyed, following the 
colonel across the swaying boards. From under the hill, 
the shouts grew loud and near; Kyle Hardy’s voice dis- 
tinguishable, as he led them on. 

Juny quietly seated herself on the bridge planks ; the bare 
little feet swinging over the canon carelessly, but the 
childish face pale, earnest and full of purpose. 




\ 



JUDGE LYNCH HOLDS COURT. 


37 


CHAPTER V. 

JUDGE LYNCH HOLDS COURT. 

As the child dropped on the bridge, Jack Rudd’s long 
body reared over the crest of the steep path opposite the 
inn ; and he strode into the open moonlight, staring about 
him curiously. As his eye fell upon the girl, he hailed her 
roughly : 

“ Hello ! gell. Wot be th’ matter below yant?” 

“Matter enufif, Jack Rudd,” Juny replied coolly, rising 
from her rjsky perch and coming toward him. “Matter 
fur th’ court, I reckon. Th’ shiners is up. Them spotes 
tole ’em them stran-gzrs was ’formers, an’ th’ boys’s cornin’ 
ter lynch ’em, on th’ spy’s tree !” 

“Lynch ’em, be they?” growled the landlord,* in no 
pleased tone. “Lynch ’em ’thout jedge-ment , eh? By th’ 
Tarnal ! Ther’ll be no lynchin’ roun’ yere, ’cep’n Jack 
Rudd hears th’ case !” 

And, with gesture determined enough to suppress even 
suggestion of contempt of court, he drew a long revolver 
from his hip and spun the cylinder round. 

“ Reck’n we’uns ’ll hear them fax, ’fore the hangin’ 
begins ! Waal, boys ! Wot’s up ?” 

The last words, in louder tone, checked a crowd of rough 
mountaineers and dingy covites, now surging from the 
shadows of the inn to the open, moonlit space. And, as 
the}' halted at the familiar voice, he repeated : 

“ Wot’s up, I sa-ay ? Wot’s you’uns’s game?” 

The men hesitated for reply ; but Kyle Hardy stepped to 
their front, his port and dress contrasting strongly with the 
coarse shirts and muddy jack boots around him. 


33 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GLEE'S STORY. 


“The game is spies, Jack Rudd,” he answered carelessly. 
“Informers, in government pay. We’ve got ’em penned, 
and hang they shall ! ” 

A growl of approval ran through the rough group behind 
him. Rudd waited for it to die into silence before he said : 

“ I wus axin’ my own boys, Coyote, an’ the’uns be fitten 
ter anser. We’uns doan borry no stran-ge r’s tongue in ther 
mountings, an’ like be we’uns kin do ’ur own hangin’ wen’ts 
need be ! ” 

“ Oh ! I’m satisfied, Jack,” Hardy replied, doggedly. “ But 
they’ll tell you as I did, and don’t you make any mistake. 
So, just to save time, I’ll swing the necklace ! ” 

As he spoke, with a black frown upon his face, the gam- 
bler strode toward the canon. And, as he went, he uncoiled 
from his arm astrong hair lariat, finally throwing it skillfully 
over the branch of the solitary tree overhanging the bridge. 

Rudd waited until the noose dangled over the deep gulch 
before he spoke. But the child passed, swiftly and unnoted, 
round the group and stood anxiously by the porch of the inn. 

“ Now, boys, things be a-ready, seems,” Rudd said at last. 
“You’uns knows me, an’ like you’uns knows th’ Coj^ote, 
thar. Jack Rudd hes stood by the stills thick ’er thin. 
You’uns knows that. He’d swing a ’former quick’r’n wink. 
You’uns know that. But, by th’ tarnal thunder ! ’Fore ther’s 
any hangin’ done, things es got ter be sot reg’lar. Whar’s 
th’ proofs?” 

A murmur of assent ran through the group, rough heads 
nodding as a “ hear ! hear !” to the speaker’s point. 

“Here’s proof, I should say, and to spare ! ” Hardy cried, 
approaching Rudd once more. “ A full description and map 
of the stills ! See here !*” 

Once more his hand went into his vest and brought out 
the dingy pocket-book ; and,, hastily examining its papers, he 
chose one. 


JUDGE LYNCH HOLDS COURT. 


39 


“ Here ! Hold this one Second,” he said, turning to Miles, 
who had slouched in behind the crowd. 

The older man took the book mechanically, never with- 
drawing the extended hand into which his partner placed it. 
Then Hardy, slapping the document open with his freed 
hand, cried exultingly : 

“See, Jack, it’s on government paper, a regular report 
and signed Randolph Baylor ! Here’s proof enough for any 
man that wants to read it ! ” 

The men, moving eagerly forward to scan the paper, 
stopped as the last words fell from Hardy’s lips. He watched 
the effect with a grim smile, knowing their illiteracy. But 
Rudd came nearer, examining the document closely. 

Miles still kept his face full-turned to Hardy — his arm still 
outstretched with the pocket-book. Only the quickest eye 
of trained detective could have noted the almost moveless 
creep of his right hand under that extended left arm. Even 
that eye would have needed stronger light to catch the 
almost timeless gleam of a folded paper as it twisted from 
the book, seemingly of its own motion. But it did not drop 
to the ground. And the years of “deck-stocking” and of 
“discard-lifting” — which had earned Mr. Miles his widely- 
known soubriquet — were vindicated by that champion filch. 

It fully justified that professional pride, speaking in his 
inward whisper to himself — 

“ Now, Jack Harrington, I’ve pretty near a king-full on 
you, anyway ! ” 

Jack Rudd turned from his inspection of the paper. 

“ Boys, this ’ere do look bad,” he said, grimly. “It do 
look reg’lar like. Ther’s picturs o’ th’ stills an’ o’ th’ secrit 
roads ; an’ ther’s a lot o’ writin’, too. An’ as you’uns kin 
all see ther’s the U. S. marks an’ th’ eegul all over on it.” 

The men craned their necks toward the document, Sanscrit 
to them ; but an ominous growl went up that sent a shiver 


r 


40 JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 

through the girl at the inn porch . 1 But the pale little face — 
bent eagerly ever toward the bridge — was set and firm as 
she whispered to herself : 

“Oh, L,or’! Won't Uncle Clay never cum with them hosses ! 
Oh ! ef I could only hear him sing ! ” 

She listened with painful eagerness ; but the only sound 
was the swelling growl of the lynchers, now grown blood- 
hungry in their wild ideas of justice. 

‘ ‘ But I kin gain them stran-ge rs a leetle mo’ time ! ” the 
girl said suddenly ; and, unnoticed in the shadow, she slip- 
ped into the inn door and shot the heavy bolt behind her. 
An instant later her lithe form slid through the furthest 
window, back upon the porch, just as Hardy turned to the 
mob and cried : 

“Aye, boys! That A proof, and reg’lar, too! Now, have 
’em out and swing ’em for it ! ” 

“Hang ’un ! Hang ’un ! ” echoed him in curdling chorus, 
as they turned to the house, headed by Jack Rudd with 
Hardy at his side. 

“ Clay ain’t a-singin’ yit,” Juny muttered. “Snakes! I 
mus’ gain time fur ’em ! ” 

And slipping out of the shadows, she confronted them 
boldly in the full light. 

“Sa-ay ! Ye’ jes’ hold up a chance, Mistur Kioty!” she 
cried, in her shrill treble. “You ’uns be a bit too fas’, ben’t 
ye ? Boys, you ’uns all know Juny never went back on ye ! 
She’s the shiners’ gal, sure, and you ’uns knows she never 
lied ! So, ’fore ye’ swing them stran-ge rs in thar, jes ask 
th’ Kioty thar if th’ ’formers writ that ’ar paper, how it 
cum’ in his pocket ! ” 

“Why, you kid, I’ll ” Hardy growled, with a spring 

toward her; but Jack Rudd’s iron grip was on his arm. 

‘ ‘ By th’ ’tarnal thunder! th’ gell’s right ! ” hecried. ‘ ‘ Sa-ay, 
how you ’uns cum wid ’em, Coyote?” 


JUDGE LYNCH HOLDS COURT. 


41 


“Simply enough, boys,” Hardy answered, turning to the 
other men. “Just hear me ” 

“No! You ’uns jes’ hear me ! ” The high, clear, child- 
voice cut through the man’s appeal, as Juny advanced. 
“You ’uns knows Juny — that she never lied ! I sa-ay I 
overheerd th’ Kioty a-fixin’ up th’ plan. He writ them 
papers ! Ax th’ ole man; he’ll tell th’ truth ! ” 

“No! Don’t ask me! I can’t remember!” Miles cried, 
quickly, thrusting the pocket-book back into Hardy’s hand. 
Then he slunk away behind the crowd, casting a quick 
glance to the rear, as if for retreat at need, s 

“Damn such child’s play!” Hardy roared, stuffing the 
book into his breast with his left hand, as he raised his 
pistol with his right. ‘ ‘ Have the men out, and let them 
deny it, if they can ! ” 

“That’s reg’lar,” Rudd answered. “It can’t make no 
differ, but it’s far enuff, boys, to let them stran-ge rs speak fur 
thes’ selves ! ” 

He stepped upon the porch, Hardy close at his side, and 
the now furious men crowding at the steps. As he did so, 
Juny moved rapidly toward the bridge, and as she passed, 
she whispered rapidly to Miles : 

‘ ‘ You'd better git ! They ’uns ’ll kill ye ! Over the 
bridge — quick ! ” 

Miles needed no second hint. Seeing himself lost sight 
of, he ambled over the bridge and slipped around the rocks 
behind it. 

“By th’ tarnal thunder ! ” Rudd cried. “ Th’ door be fast ! 
Open thar! Open, I sa-ay! ’’And he hammered with heavy fist. 

“ Aha ! The ’formers don’t dare to show ! ” Hardy cried 
in triumph. ‘ ‘ Boys, we’ll smash the door and have them out!” 

Seizing the axe Juny had used, the gambler sprang at the 
door, raining heavy blows upon it till the bolt gave way. In 
he rushed, closely followed by Rudd. 


42 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


But, at that moment, Juny’s dead white face lit up with 
joy, as the well-known voice, echoing from the frowning 
rock, startled the night with the knowledge that — 

“ De Lord Him lub Him nigga well ! ” 

And that wild waif, the shiners’ gal, dropped on trembling 
knees at the bridge edg£, raising her little face as she whis- 
pered above : 

‘ ‘ He’s thar ! Thank’ee, Lord ! thank’ee. The stran-ge rs is 
safe ! ” 

And, as that simple prayer went up, Hardy rushed from 
the inn, following Jack Rudd, who yelled : 

“ They’ve cut ! Up, shiners, an’ fin’ ’em — live or dead / ” 

‘ ‘ There ! ” cried Hardy, passing Rudd and pointing with 
his pistol — ‘ ‘ There ! by the bridge ! ” 

The baffled crowd turned sullenly and rushed for the nar- 
row bridge. As sullenly they recoiled. 

In the narrow pass opposite, three shining pistol barrels 
flashed back the moonlight. There stood the hunted stran- 
gers, between them a singular recruit — Mr. Tip Miles. And 
he showed memory enough to level an army six straight at 
Kyle Hardy, as he broke through the halting crowd. 

“ Juny, come ! Cross quickly ! ” Wilmot Browne cried. 

“Throw down th’ planks! Don’ min’ me! Throw ’em 
down — quick ! ” screamed back the girl, her little hands 
tugging fiercely at the planks, moving them but little. 

“ Fools ! The kid has tricked you ! ” Hardy cried, as he 
stood boldly before the leveled pistols. * ‘ Rally ! and we’ll 
hang ’em yet ! ” 

Straining all her little weight, Juny had one plank upon 
the very verge. Breathless, .she panted : 

“ Throw’ t down ! Quick ! Throw’m both down !” 

“Then come across ! ” Browne shouted. And the two other 
men chorused : 

‘ ‘ Come ! Come quick ! ” 


JUDGE LYNCH HOLDS COURT. 


43 


The child heard the gathering rush behind her. Not thirty 
Steps away, she felt the tread of thirty hurrying men. 

Never turning her head, with final, unnatural strength, 
she tilted one heavy plank. It tottered — tipped over — 
crashed down the canon’s side ! 

[ “Over! For your life, over!” screamed Browne, drop- 
ping on his knees and seizing the other plank with both 
hands. 

With the surefooted lightness of the mountain goat, the 
girl tripped across the perilous run and was caught in 
Colonel Baylor’s arms, just as Browne wrenched the plank 
around ; sending it hurtling into the gorge below. 

“Damn them! We’re beat!” roared Hardy, checking 
himself with foot upon the very verge. 

His pistol clicked sharply, as his arm rose to aim ; but a 
Strong hand struck it up and Jack Rudd cried : 

“Tek car’ o’ th’ gell!” 

The harmless bullet sped moonward, as the mountaineer 
turned to the others, adding : 

‘ ‘ Scatter, boys ! Try an’ hed ’em off, below yant ! ” 

The opposing party disappeared behind the protecting 
rocks, speeding toward their horses on the sandy road below. 
And thence, Clay’s voice floated to the ear of the baffled 
gambler ; assuring him that he was : 

“ Wukkin’ like de debble, 

Fur mitey leetle p a y ! ” , 


44 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


CHAPTER VI. 

AMONG THE PERSONALS. 

Six years had been added to this century, since the night 
the Coyote missed his prey in the Shiners’ Gap ; years 
freighted with import to the actors in that brief, if sensa- 
tional, drama. 

Juny — formally adopted by Colonel Baylor, to the intense 
disgust of his sister, Mrs. Beverly Baylor Browne — had been 
placed at the best schools in New York, as soon as her prog- 
ress under his own eye had warranted. The old man had 
watched every development, under the girl’s new life, with 
jealous love, for her true frank nature had wound itself 
closely about his heart. 

Replacing the daughter he had so tragically lost, he wor- 
shiped the girl with a devotion which he almost felt disloyal 
to the memory even of the w r ife he had idolized. And, now 
nearing womanhood, he felt she was all-in-all to him. 

On Juny’s account, Colonel Baylor had over and over 
postponed the foreign voyage recommended by his doctor; 
but the summer before, Wilmot Browne had received an 
ugly arrow-wound through his shoulder, in an Indian fight. 

The surgeons said a sea trip was needed ; so uncle and 
nephew had passed several months abroad, returning only 
the morning we meet them here. 

The young captain, a trifle pale, but manlier and hand- 
somer than before, lounged easily on the sofa of a handsome 
library, in a Texington-avenue mansion. 

Near him stood a slim, keen-eyed man of uncertain age. 
The very pink of neatness and style in every detail of his 
dress, there was yet something in the close-shaven face — as 


AMONG THE PERSONALS. 


45 


well as in the manner of his visitor — that might have shown 
the practiced judge, at a glance, that he was scarcely “of 
society.” 

Under extreme ease of pose and glibness of speech, Cap- 
tain Hunter Beagle could not successfully hide that singular 
something, which Mrs. Knickerbocker might have called — 
“ Je ne sais quoi /” but which — as she would most emphat- 
ically have declared — was not “ savoir faire .” 

‘‘Yes, Cap’n Browne, yon return from Vyenner just on the 
nick of time,” Captain Beagle was saying. “Your delay 
for the next steamer might have been too late. Not that I 
should have lost my men,” he corrected himself, quickly. 
“ That isn’t my way. But I might not have caught them 
both at once ! ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Then you really have them ? ” Browne jumped from the 
sofa, in strong excitement. 

“Oh, come! Cap’n, you’re moving rather fast,” the other 
answered, coolly. “ Haste spoils delicate work, you know. 
May do for a beginner, but never for an artist ! ” 

“ Then they are not arrested? ” * 

“My dear sir!” Beagle commiserated gently. “Why, 
that would be worse than haste; it would be weakness! 
Can’t arrest without a charge ; charge won’t hold without 
proof. Conspiracy always wins in the courts, and forgery is 
no case without witness to act, or to benefit from results of 
act. But, I tell you what I have got ” 

“ The proof, at least? ” Browne again broke in. 

“ There! You’re hasty again,” responded the imperturbable 

Beagle. “What I have got is a clue ! Six days ago 

this appeared among the personals.” 

He handed a newspaper to Browne, his forefinger indexing 
the place, and the latter read aloud : 

“ ‘ Wolf: If in New York still , I will trade papers for coins, 
j p> Well! If that’s your clue, it seems a pretty slim one !” 


4 6 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL’S STORY. 


“ That’s hasty again ; go slow,” Captain Beagle answered. 
“What does J. P.' stand for? ” 

“Many things; Jupiter Pluvius, for instance,” Browne 
answered, with a yawn. 

“ Yes ; item , for Jackpots ; and ‘ Wolf' is another form for 
Coyote.” The detective took out a cigarette, rerolled it 
carefully and strolled to the mantel ; while Browne answered 
eagerly : 

“ That’s so ! But they mean other things besides.” 

The searcher after evil lit a match, inhaled a long cloud 
of smoke and blew it through his nose; then answered 
slowly : 

“ Not this time. Sunday this appeared : ' Jackpot : Am 

ready to see paper and go coin better. K. O. Td Both our 
men are here ; for to-day this appeared : ‘ Wolf: To-morrow 

night. T. Square ; great paper sale. J. Pots' To-morrow 
night I’ll nab them — perhaps !” 

‘ ‘Arrest them without fail ! ” Browne cried, rising — “ We’ll 
have both ” 

“Discharged? Quite right.” Beagle finished quietly. 
“ Dear me ! Cap’n, you hunt Indians better than thieves. 
What we want is the proof ; not the men. We can get them 
at any time. We must have those papers, whatever they 
are ; and we must, if possible, find them on the men. That 
will be proof ! ” 

“You have shadowed the men, of course? ” 

“I think I have — both,” Beagle answered. “One of 
them scarcely tallies with your description, though ; as 
you’ll confess the first time you meet him out.” 

“ Meet him out ? ” Will Browne echoed. 

“ Yes ; you can’t very well miss him, I think. It may 
give you an electric shock, when you do ! As for the other 
— if I’m onto the right man — the singularity of his employ- 
ment will give you a cold douche ! Why, he actually is on 


AMONG THE PERSONALS. 


47 


familiar terms with S-s/i / I hear the ladies coming. 

Remember ; female tongues are dangerous, one’s family the 
worst confidants ! ” 

And, the modern Solomon picked up his hat, placing his 
finger on his lip, as the lady entered the room with a swirl, 
followed by Colonel Baylor. 

Mrs. Beverly Baylor Browne — formerly of Colepeper Court 
House, but later of Murray Hill — was a woman of excel- 
lent heart, unhappily dominated by a somewhat weak head. 
The colonel’s half-sister, she had inordinate pride in her 
really excellent family, coupling with it intense ambition to 
shine as a social light before the “four hundred.” This her 
brother’s liberality easily permitted ; for, left a widow soon 
after Browne, ftere, had lost the last dollar of her patrimony 
on the race track, she had been recognized ever since as the 
head of the Baylor household. This comprised herself, 
Wilmot, one young lady daughter and, last and least, the 
colonel himself. 

Indeed, it was delightful to see the way in which he was 
henpecked by both women in small matters ; how quietly, 
and without protest, he took the reins into his own hands 
in all serious ones. 

A stately, handsome woman — not scorning aid from high 
art, at times — Mrs. Browne made style her fetich and society 
her temple ; and, never guilty of a rudeness, she could look 
through a doubtful comer with her double gold eyeglass in a 
manner that never failed of its result. 

“Of course, brother Randolph, if you insist;” she was 
saying, in some excitement as they entered, ‘ ‘ only it seems 
so unconventional — quite baroque , in fact ! Juniata is a child, 

has never made her debut and Wilmot, my son, pardon 

us. I did not see that you had visitors.” 

“ Oh, only an old friend, madam,” Beagle said, quickly. 


43 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 

“Yes, mamma ; an old friend,” Browne echoed. “Major 
— a — um — ” 

“Grabbett!” whispered Beagle, to the rescue. 

“ Grabbett ! ” Will echoed, staring. Major Grabbett, of— 
a — of ’ ’ 

“ Chicago ! ” Beagle again prompted, behind his hat. 

“ Major Grabbett, of Chicago, mamma ; my uncle, Colonel 
Baylor,” Will said, mechanically. 

“Delighted ! Madam, I’m sure ! ” Beagle cried warmly, 
seizing Mrs. Browne’s hand and shaking it briskly, to her 
infinite surprise. “Delighted, Colonel! Yours truly. 
Always glad to meet military men. Not in the regular 
service myself: N. G. ! National Guard. We’re getting 
up a grand competitive drill, and I called on Browne here 
to get him as a judge ! Glorious position ! Dangerous as 
base ball umpire, though ! Won’t intrude longer. Ta-ta, 
Browne! Colonel! Mrs. B!” And the detective bowed 
himself out. 

“Rather a singular person, your friend, Wilmot, my 
son ! ” Mrs. Browne said, the double-barreled glass at 
point-blank range. “ Not the best form, / should say ; but 
military manners, I presume. But, brother, should you 
decide on to-morrow’s trip to Browne Beach ” 

‘ ‘ I have decided,” the colonel answered quietly. ‘ ‘ To-day, 
Will and I will want Juny all to ourselves, bless her ! To- 
morrow we will take this jaunt, though I hate to see that 
cottage again, since ” 

“Juny should be here soon,” Will broke in quickly. 

“ In an hour,” Colonel Baylor answered ; drawing out his 
watch impatiently. ‘ ‘ I can scarcely wait so long to see 
what change a year has wrought in our darling ! ” 

“I was at the school last week,” Mrs. Browne said. 
“ Really, I find Juniata improved each time I see her. She 
is gaining style, and will only lack — family ! ” 


AMONG THE PERSONALS. 


49 


“She will lack nothing /” her brother retorted quickly. 
“She has ‘family,’ sister! I have made her my daughter, 
and I have the right to hope that you will treat her as 
yours ! ” 

“ I will try , brother Randolph,” the lady answered with a 
stately bow. ‘ ‘ I really like the girl ; although she is so 
untrained — so unconventional — so unlike Augustine ! But, 
I fully realize, brother, that your generosity makes it 
possible for the Beverly Baylor Brownes to resume their 
proper position in society. I must love Juniata, for your 
sake ! '* 

“Well, you may begin that way, mamma,” Will answered, 
quietly, as he passed his arm around the stately form. ‘ ‘ But, 
unless i much mistake you both, you’ll soon love her for 
her own — “ Hello ! There’s Gus,” he finished, as a cheery 
laugh rang through the hall. Then the opposite door closed 
with a bang, and a tall, handsome girl bounded into the 
library. 

Augustine Beverly Baylor Browne — affectionately cut 
down to ‘ ‘ Gus ” — had features that would have been aristo- 
cratic, but for their ruddy health and extreme good nature. 
Her figure seemed to be perfect, so far as it was hinted 
through a wrapper of exaggerated cut, in pale, soft blue stuff, 
bubbling over with pleats and pocket flaps. And, running 
into the room, Gus kissed her uncle and brother with resound- 
ing smacks; then spun round and round, holding out the 
strange garment wide. 

“Like it, bud?” she cried, at last, breathless. “Isn’t it 
just jolly crimp?” 

‘ ‘Augustine ! ” reproved Mrs. Brown. ‘ ‘ Why will you use 
those dreadful, unconventional forms of speech ? ” 

“ But it is crimp ! Isn’t it, bud? Designed specially for 
me — not another like it in New York — by Michael Angela 
Lake.” 

4 


5 o IUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY . 

“ Well, it ought to be ‘crimp,’ with that name behind it,” 
Will laughed. “ But who is Michael Angelo Lake?” 

‘ 4 Lor’ ! Bud ! Don’t you read the papers ? Why he’s my 
very last and best and dearest ; the new rage ; the art evo- 
lutionist. He gives awfully dk-lightful lectures on dress 
and cookery and Sunday-school decoration. Why, he teaches 
us how to walk and wink and faint gracefully ! Yes, bud; 
he designed this dress ! ” 

“He did? Well, you’re right, Gus. He is an evolution- 
ist. Why, I’d wager that there isn’t a dress like that in all 
of Europe ! ” 

4 4 Thank you ; I knew there wasn’t ! And he cuts all his 
own clothes ; and they’re just too crimp for anything. 
What’s that, mamma ? *’ 

“He gives me a shudder always, ’’ Mrs. Browne was say- 
ing. “ I much prefer Augustine’s encouraging Colonel de 

la Plata. He is a Brazilian of family and of great 

wealth. You will admire him, brother ; he has style.” 

“Awfully bad style, then,” pouted Miss Browne. “He 
isn’t half as nice as M. A.” 

“He has the two great essentials,” the mother retorted 
with emphasis — “birth and money. Without these what 
can one expect in married life ? ” 

“Happiness — perhaps,” Will replied, dryly. “If ever / 
marry, mamma, it will be the woman herself, not her great- 
grandmother. And as for money buying hap — ” 

“ Wilmot, my son ! ” cried horrified Mrs. Browne. 44 You 
shock me ! Such unconventional heresies would soon admit 
all classes into society ! ” 

“Not a bit of it!” Colonel Baylor retorted bluntly — 
44 Much more likely to keep the most objectionable class of 
all out of it -Well, Clay ? ” 


THE BLOSSOM OF THE BUD. 


51 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE BEOSSOM OB THE BUD. 

At the door, as Colonel Baylor spoke, appeared the tall, 
lank form of the “hymin” singer of the Shiners’ Gap. 
Scarcely more grizzled in six years interval, the negro was 
a metamorphosed man in his sleek broadcloth, shining collar 
and oozily-greased hair ; and his stately pomposity became 
a traveled gentleman, who was “ de kurnel’s pussnul wally- 
dee-sham,” fresh from Vienna. 

But through Wash Clay’s stateliness shone out huge de- 
light. His eyes rolled wildly, his long legs shook and he 
gasped with haste — 

“ She’s a-comin’, Morse Randorf ! Missy Juny’s a-comin’. 
I seen de kerrige tun de cornah ! ” 

Down the stately hallway to the front door flew the black, 
followed by the family quartette, just as a cab rattled up. 

Scarcely letting it stop, before the driver even began to 
descend, a tall, graceful girl bounded out, bringing with her 
a small avalanche of bundles, satchels and hat-boxes that 
rolled about the pavement. With a wild rush for the steps, 
she clung tightly around the colonel’s neck, crying between 
loud-resounding kisses : 

“So glad! You dear — dear old dad! So glad you’re 
back ! ” Then she held him off by the shoulders and gazed 
with brimming eyes : “ Oh ! How I have missed you, darling 
old dad ! And Will, too ! I hardly recognized that new 
moustache ! Ho— -no ! Will ! ” she added, holding out both 
hands, but dodging her head from his kiss. “ No, I’m not 
a little girl any more ! ” 


52 


JUNY : OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


“Yes; the same frank, true little girl,” the colonel said. 
“Not one bit changed ; only prettier ! ” 

“Not one bit changed, Juny,” Will repeated ; “and so 
much prettier ! ” and he still held both her hands. 

Two bright red spots suddenly rose to the girl’s cheeks, 
gradually spreading over brow and neck, as she released her 
hands gently, saying : 

“ I hope I’m not changed, dad, darling. But I’m nineteen, 
now, you know.” 

“Most unconventional — in the public street!” Mrs. 
Browne fretted to Augustine. “ Come in, my dear Juniata! 
How d’ye do ? ” 

“ Oh, Mrs. Browne! And Augustine ! Oh! Isn't it nice 

to have them home ag Goody ! You good old European 

Clay ! ” 

Suddenly the beaming eyes had caught the old negro — 
his arms piled with recaptured bundles, his face aglow with 
joy — as he ascended the steps. 

“You dear, good old Uncle Wash!” r 

Both the little fur-tipped gloves stretched out to the down- 
trodden national ward, causing fresh unconventionality for 
Mrs. Browne’s dismay. 

Down again tumbled bandbox and satchel, as Washington 
Clay, for once, forgot his state and was only “ de ole nigga ” 
again. Seizing both little hands in his great, wrinkled 
paws, the faithful old negro cried : 

“ Gord bress da’ chile ! Nuffin’ gwine ter spile her , sho’s 
yo’ born ! Yah ! yah ! yee-e-ah ! ' ’ And the sacred precincts 
of Murray Hill echoed once more to the profaning expres- 
sion of a natural emotion. 

At last, back in the cozy library, Mrs. Browne’s lips 
touched Juny’s forehead, as she said : 

“You are welcome, Juniata. Nothing could bring so 
much joy to brother Randolph.” 


THE BLOSSOM OF THE BUD. 


53 


“ To us all !” the colonel said with emphasis. “ In your 
own home, my daughter, all love you • alike. Your aunt 
will be a mother to you.” 

“I shall certainly try , my dear,” Mrs. Browne replied; 
adding sotto voce to Gus : “ Not bad looking, when she 
acquires style ! ” 

‘ ‘ I’ll certainly be your sister, dear ! ” Gus cried, by way 
of response and kissing Juny warmly. “ I think you’re just 
too crimp for anything ! ” 

“ Thank you, Augustine. Oh! Bother ! I must call you 
Gus, too,” Juny said, frankly. “ I think we two will be 
great chums. Oh ! Dad, it is just too sweet to be at home ! ” 
But, my darling, you surprised us. You must have 
taken the earliest train ? ” 

“ Yes, dad ! Of course, the very minute I got your telegram 
I packed a satchel, grabbed a hat-box and flew to the station, 
without one word to Old Press ! ” 

“To whom, Juniata?” Mrs. Browne asked. 

“Miss Friller, our principal. The girls call her ‘Irre- 
pressible ’ — Old Press for short ! ” 

“ What a crimp name ! ” 

“ What a rum set you girls are ! ” 

In the same breath, Mrs. Browne’s pair had thus ex- 
claimed ; and promptly that mother of Gracchi reproved : 

“Wilmot! Augustine! Pray use more conventional 
forms of speech ! Those are in shocking taste ! ” 

“ I should have been here sooner, dad,” Juny rattled on — 
heedless of the lesson in good form — “but for an accident, 
almost a serious one. A little boy — oh, such an odd little 
fellow, tried to dodge before our horses; slipped and fell 
under their very feet. He would have been trampled horribly 
had not a man rushed in and saved him, at risk of his own 
life. And the man was even stranger-looking than the boy ; 
such a funny, stubbly beard and a green patch over his eye.” 


54 


JUNY: OR ONL Y ONE GIRL'S STOR Y. 


“Goodness! How jolly!” Gus cried. “Oh! mamma, 
maybe that man was the ” 

“Augustine!” broke in her mother, with unwonted quick- 
ness and severity, “ You monopolize the conversation.” 

“And somehow,” Juny went on, “the man’s face re- 
minded me of somebody I know ; but I guess it was only 
some picture in Puck” 

“ But, mamma,” persevered Gus, with a pout, “ I’m con- 
fident the man must be ” 

“Augustine! I insist /” Mrs. Browne again cut in quick- 
ly. ‘ ‘ One can not take interest in actions of the common 
people.” 

“But, aunt, that boy did!” Juny answered, with a ring- 
ing laugh. ‘ ‘ He called the old man a double-barreled life- 
preserver ! ” 

“How awfully crimp!” Gus cried ; “and, mamma, I’m 
just sure the man must be ” 

Again Mrs. Browne incised her sentence sharply — “Ju- 
niata, I will prepare your room ! Augustine ! Come with 
me ; I need your assistance specially.” 

“I’ll go with you, too, sister,” the colonel said, kissing 
Juny tenderly. ‘ ‘ Our little girl’s room must be perfect before 
she sees it. The best in this house is not good enough for 
her.” 

“Dear — darling old dad! How I do love him!” Juny 
cried, as the three left the room. “ How well he looks, too! 
But, Will, it seems to me you look serious. Is anything 
troubling you ? ” 

“Do I look serious, Juny? Well, perhaps ” He 

hesitated only an instant, then added, frankly: “Juny, I 
think I can trust you ! ” 

“Think so? Well, I should hope you could !” the girl 
answered, with a shade of mortification. 


THE BLOSSOM OF THE BUD. 


55 

I will ! he rejoined, frankly. “You are not changed ; 
you are the same brave, quick-witted Juny who saved us in 
the Shiners’ Gap ! You remember that night ? ” 

Could I ever forget it ? ” the girl answered. 

And those two men, the gamblers ? ” he went on, and the 
girl nodded earnestly, her clear blue eyes fixed on his as he 
continued : 

“ They are in New York now and still plotting some harm 
to him ; haggling over some papers.” 

“What can the papers be ? ” Juny asked. 

“That puzzles the detective and me.” 

“Well,” the girl said, brightly, after a brief pause, “Old 
Stumper, who teaches us mathematics, says a straight line is 
the shortest distance. Why not ask dad?” 

“ Not for the world ! ” Will replied, hastily. “He grows 
nervous — has one of his bad turns— at the least allusion to 
his old life in New Orleans. You are a woman now, Juny, 
and you should know that the baby daughter, the only child 
of his idolized wife, both of whom you now replace in his 
affection, was drowned soon after his first bereavement. 
Uncle was sending the child to my mother ; but none of us 
ever allude to her now. No, Juny, we must work in the 
dark, but we will work together ! ” 

The girl held out her hand in frank, manly fashion, as 
she answered feelingly : 

“Dear old Will, you know that to save dad even one mo- 
ment’s pain, I'd give my life ! I think I’m no fool ; I know 
I’m no coward ! I am no city miss, and boarding-school has 
not educated all the pluck out of ‘ the shiners’ gal ! ’ So, 
Will, you can just look on me as a man !” 

“ By Jove ! you shame the courage of many a man !” the 
young soldier cried in admiration ; but he forgot to release 
the firm little hand she held out to confirm their pact. ‘ ‘ We 
will keep our own counsel, Juny, and you — little girl as you 


5 6 JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 

are — shall aid me to foil these self-same plotters, as you did 
six years ago ! ” 

The girl looked bravely into his eyes, her own unflinching, 
yet full, reflecting some very tender memory. The sound of 
voices buzzed from the hall above and Juny’s name was 
called. 

Suddenly, Will Browne threw his arm about the girl, 
straining her close to his breast for one instant ; then, as it 
released her, his lips met hers. It took but one second of 
time ere she broke away, her cheeks aflame, her breast 
heaving under the glow of that caress. 

At the door she turned. Their eyes met. 

In hers was no anger, only an arch reproach ; but she held 
up her finger in warning, as she cried : 

“ Fie, Will ! That's not the way to treat a man ! ” 



A VERY ODD VISITOR. 


57 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A VERY ODD VISITOR. 

The Lexington-avenue mansion was very still. Will 
Browne had gone to his room to pore over memoranda and 
correspondence of the detective ; Juny was in her room, deep 
in talk of the past year with the colonel ; Mrs. Browne in 
hers, lecturing Gus on the advantages of family when allied 
to money. 

The bronzed street door opened noiselessly, and a plainly- 
dressed man with stubbly beard and a patch over his eye — 
partly concealing the features — entered quietly and closed it 
behind him with easy confidence. 

“ I surely saw Juny drive up to this door,” he said to him- 
self, ‘ ‘ and I must speak to her ! How I have watched that 
gal since the old man took her in ! After all, what a blamed 
sucker I may be ; playing a marked card with ’nary sign on 
it ! Lady Lofty’s pride will die hard ; ’ ’ and an amused smile 
chased the worry from his hard, old face. “ But she dar’nt 
refuse, and I’ve got a desperate game of bluff to play to- 
morrow night. One look into the gal’s eyes will give me 
nerve ! ” 

A step was at his side, and Clay’s voice began : 

“Look a-yeah, sah ! Da’ ain’ no way fur to mek yo’ 

enterree en a leddy’s Lor’, gorry ! Morse Jackpots ! 

sho’s yo’ born ! ” 

‘ ‘ Wash Clay ! the devil ! ” muttered Mr. Miles ; but he 
added boldly, aloud : “ What do you mean, Charles Augus- 
tus ? You never set eyes on me before ! ” 


58 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


“Jesso, Morse Tip Miles, jesso ! ” the negro answered. 
“ Wash Clay’s eyes is sot, sho’ ’nuff ; but he nebber furgit 
ole frens, ef dey does war new close ; yah-yah-jy^ ” 

The well-remembered refrain was cut off before its climax 
by a heavy hand over Wash’s mouth. 

“Curse you! Don’t raise the neighborhood!” Miles 
growled. “ Here; keep your darned jaw closed, and take 
this ! ” 

He slipped a bright dollar into the negro’s hand ; and, as 
he hesitated to pocket it, asked : 

“ Now, what in the devil brought you back ? ” 

“ Wa’ birung me back? Wa’ yo’ spose brung me? But 
look a-yeah, Morse Jackpots, wa’ yo’ want in dis yeah 
house ? ” 

“Visiting,” Miles replied, with a grim smile. “Here; 
take this card to Mrs. Browne ! ” 

“ Tek wot ? ” Clay’s eyes opened wide in wonder. 

“She’ll see me,” Miles answered, quietly. “Take the 
card at once ! ” 

Wash Clay took the card and turned away, without reply. 
Surprise seemed to have struck him dumb ; and he reached 
the landing above before he recovered speech enough to 
mutter : 

“ Morse Jackpots with a kee-yard ! Ob dis kine, too ! ” 

Mr. Miles had builded wisely ; for he had scarce seated 
himself in the parlor before Mrs. Browne sailed in. Her 
nose was in the air, her cheeks flushed, and she stood erect 
before him : 

“Well, sir! You are here again! What do you want?” 

“ I want Juny. Oh ! I know she’s here, L,adv L,ofty, and 
I’m going to see her ! ” 

“You are mad, Tip Miles ! What could this young person 
possibly be to you ? What tie could bind you to — my adopted 
niece ? ” 


A VERY ODD VISITOR. 


59 

“ That’s my business,” Mr. Miles responded, more easily 
than elegantly. “So, you just shuffle, cut and deal her 
out!” 

“You — you —person! You are insolent!” Mrs. Browne; 
stammered, not finding words for her wrath. 

“Well, you’ve been blamed long finding it out, Lady 
Eofty ! It’s been over twenty years since you were first so 

fond of me. But, perhaps” and he fell into his old 

manner — ‘ ‘ I don’t — quite — remember ! ” 

“ Ruffian / To remind me of that disgrace; and of — my 
age!” 

“No use a-playin’ your F. F. V. trumps,” the man an- 
swered, quietly. “So quit bluffin’ an’ deal out the gal.” 

“Ungrateful vulgarian!” was the stately retort. “You 
know I have been liberal to you ! ” 

“Well; yes, Lady Lofty,” he answered deliberately. 
“ You were pretty free with your brother’s money. You do 
pay a-pretty good salary, as manager of that worthless farm, 
to stop my mouth. But I ain’t askin’ favors to-day. I 
want to see the gal, an’ see her I will, if you lose your age ! ” 

“ You shall not see Juniata !” Mrs. Browne was growing 
angry and raised her voice. Juny, tripping lightly down the 
stairs, caught her name, clearly spoken. Ere she reached 
the bottom, the next sentence fell clear and distinct upon 
her ear : 

‘ ‘ Have I not suffered enough disgrace ; hid our shameful 
connection — for years ? ” 

“Disgrace! Shameful connection ! ” Juny repeated to 
herself. ‘ ‘ What can she mean ? ” 

The man’s voice, from the drawing-room, answered mock- 
ingly : 

“ Then I’ll proclaim it ; and ruin you in society ! ” 

“ Ruin her ! ” cried Juny ; now near the door. “Oh ! I 
must not listen ! ” 


6o 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


She turned hastily away ; but, at the same instant, Mrs. 
Browne and Tip Miles caught her reflection in the mirror. 

“ Juniata ! ” screamed the lady, flushing scarlet. 

But, simultaneously, Miles extended eager, tremulous 
hands to her, crying : “ Juny ! Little gal ! Come to your—” 

‘ ‘ Do not dare to breathe that word ! ” Mrs. Browne inter- 
rupted him ; and Juny, standing irresolute in the doorway, 
raised her eyes to Miles’ face. 

In her own, surprise replaced distress, as she muttered : 

‘ ‘ Old Jackpots ? Here ! And familiar with Aunt Browne ! ” 
“ Oh ! Aunt,” and she turned pleadingly to the lady — “you 
can not know that this man is ” 

“ Hush, girl! Breathe no word ! ” Mrs. Browne screamed 
to Juny. “Silence! if you value our reputation /” 

Amazement kept the girl’s lips closed ; but her eyes were 
full of pitying question. They moved from the woman’s 
face, changing, as they met the man’s, to disgust and defiance. 

“ Don't look at me that way, gal! Oh! Juny, don't do 
it ! ” And the gambler stretched out hands with yearning 
obsecration in them. 

Society rose to its reserved rights. Mrs. Browne, with 
cheeks aflame and eyes that matched them, strode before 
Miles. She raised her hand with majestic sweep and com- 
manded : 

‘ ‘ Juniata ! Dare not listen to that person ! Go ! ” And 

she pointed to the stairway. 

And society prevailed. Juny turned helplessly, in a slow, 
dazed way, and mounted the stairs. Her brain was a- whirl, 
and the broken fragments of quick-rushing thoughts escaped 
her lips : 

“ Tip Miles here ! Connection ! Reputation ! Shame ! 
What can it mean ? ” 

Then her face brightened for an instant, only to cloud 
again, as she murmured : 


A VERY ODD VISITOR. 


61 


“ I will run and ask Will — — Great heaven ! And Will 
is her son ! ” 

She was at her own door. She slammed it ; turned the 
key ; and, throwing herself upon her bed, buried the burn- 
ing face in the pillow. Idea after idea was rushing through 
her brain until it throbbed fiercely. 

Contemporaneous literature was not familiar to Juny ; and 
the “ situation ” had in it only horror — with no grotesque 
side — for her simple mind. Could Mrs. Browne, with her 
high birth and high breeding, be really in the power of this 
gambler cheat — this tramp? If so, how horrible must be 
the accident that had given him this power ! What could 
she — simple, ignorant girl as she was — do to help the sister 
of the man who was more than father to her — who was 
mother of the only one who had been a hero to her healthy 
imagination ? 

Juny dared appeal to neither ; and the woman’s own ter- 
ror of exposure — so real and palpable — gave no hope of ex- 
planation from her. So, agitated and helpless, the girl lay 
perfectly still ; plan after plan forming itself in her brain, 
only to be as promptly dismissed. 

Gradually, these ideas formed themselves into fantastic 
shapes ; grew vaporous and spread into giant forms as hazy 
and as hideous as the Genius of the Lamp, appearing to 
Aladdin. Then they mingled into smoky blackness, little by 
little floating away and leaving her busy brain as blank and 
peaceful as an infant’s. For Juny had the healthful body of 
youth, as fit sheath for purely healthful soul ; she had risen 
at dawn, traveled many miles and had her nerves at unusual 
tension. 

So, she slept profoundly ! 


62 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


CHAPTER IX. 

A DRAMATIC LEADING MAN. 

Mrs. Browne turned upon her strange visitor, as Juny 
mounted the stair. His stupid placidity of manner had 
returned, and he was sitting comfortably in a spring rocker. 

“ And now, sir ! ” she cried. “Having almost exposed 
me, will you leave my house ? ” 

“Maybe I will, Lady Lofty,” the man replied coolly — 
‘ ‘ when you get one ! ” 

The lady crossed the room. Her hand was on the bell, 
as she answered : 

“ Very well. I am about to ring for my brother ! ” 

“Your brother! Is he back?” Miles cried, starting to 
his feet. 

“ Wilmot and he returned this morning,” she replied. 

“ That nigger ! I might have known ! ” Miles muttered. 
Then he added, to her: “He is in New York ? In this 
house ? Then I will lose my place ? ” 

Mrs. Browne deigned no further reply to these rapid que- 
ries than a stately nod. Society had the upper hand now ; 
and he hurried on : 

“Then, there is no time to lose! Woman, your cursed 
folly nearly caused ruin to you all ! Now, don’t you dare to 
hint one thing about me to him. Remember ! ” 

And Tip Miles strode up and down that elegant drawing- 
room, muttering to himself : 

“ Learnt it just in time, by the ’tarnal Jackpot! Now, I 
must meet Kyle Hardy to-night ! ” 

But excitements were still in store for Mrs. Browne that 
day. For, even as she stood with irresolute hand upon the 


A DRAMA TIC LEADING MAN. 63 

bell, Henry Washington Clay appeared, as though in answer 
to the soundless summons. 

“ Look a-yeah, Morse Jackpots !” he cried, in a voice hol- 
lowed by surprise, “ Dere’s a werry onplesunt sort ob a 
boy a-huntin’ fur yo’.” 

“ A boy, too ! Here ? ” Mrs. Browne sniffed, wrathfully. 

‘ ‘ Jesso, Missus, jesso ! He jes’ describe Morse Tip fussrate, 
an’ say he see ’um cum in dis yeah doh, sho’s yo’ born ! ” 

“ Do not admit him ! ” Mrs. Browne commanded, loud. 

“Lor’, gorry ! He dun ’mit hisself! ” grumbled the ne- 
gro ; and a singular looking boy brushed by him and stood 
in the doorway, swinging his crownless hat with a wild 
flourish. 

A noteworthy boy, too, in some regards. Of that uncer- 
tain age which the poverty-stamped faces of great cities leave 
doubtful between fifteen and twenty-one, he was lithe and 
muscular, the freedom of his long limbs not wanting grace. 
Coarsely as he was dressed, there was strange absence of 
rags in the patched clothes, whose cleanliness sorted ill with 
phantom shoes a world too large for his feet. But his face 
was marked enough, with its keen, shrewd expression and 
intelligent quickness of eye to demand attention ; and his 
crisp, curly hair was neat beyond precedent in the New York 
gamin. 

The ill-assorted pair stared at the boy with different eyes. 
Miles showed in his that sort of free-masonry bred only in 
the ultimate Bohemia. Mrs. Browne’s divided their expres- 
sion between curiosity and horror. 

“All kerect, guv’ner ! All right, mos’ grashus leddyship,” 
the newcomer exclaimed, unabashed, but not disrespectfully. 
“ It’s me, honly me !” 

Mrs. Browne only gasped ; but the boy, striking an atti- 
tude, spouted dramatically : 

“ ‘ That she is mad , ’tis terrue ! ’ ” 


64 


JUNY; OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


“ ‘ ’Tis terrue, ’tis pity, an’ pity ’tis, ’tis terrue !’ Yes, guv’- 
ner, I seed yer step inter this yere pallis, an’ jest dropt in 
ter thank yer fur savin’ my life ! ” 

“Oh! That’s all right, my boy,” Mr. Miles replied, philo- 
sophically. “ It’s of no consequence.” 

‘ ‘ No ? My neck ! A in' t it ? ” the boy returned. ‘ ‘ Well, 
it mayn’t be ter nobody else, but yer kin speckerlate it’s 
werry conweniunt ter me ! ” 

“ Dreadful little boy ! ” gasped the mistress of the house. 

‘ ‘ Who are you ? ” 

“ Tawrence Forrest Macready Barrett Irving Miggs, least- 
ways Tarry, fur short ! ” responded the intruder. “Yer see, 
my mother, she’s connected wid der perfesh. She’s rag- 
wringer fur the Tyceeum thea -tur ! She’s a laundress on high 
Delsarteen princerpuls, she is ; so she named me arter th’ 
stars. Some o’ th’ kids calls me Hedwin Boot ; but I warns 
’em to shoot nicknames or ther’ll be a wacancy in the ranks 
o’ th’ perfesh !” 

Mrs. Browne’s effortful dignity was wofully diluted with 
curiosity, as it ejaculated : 

“ Dreadful little boot-black !” 

‘ ‘ Dreadful little , yer can estimate ! ” Tarry responded 
promptly. “Boot-blacks is played! Wy, ther’s a boot- 
black in hevery comedy-dramy of wital contemmerary 
huming interest, by a native Hamerikin playright. No, 
ma-am ! In my hopinion, boot-blacks is low ! ” 

Mrs. Browne rang the bell, as she exclaimed : 

“ Child! You’re a monstrosity ! ” 

“Ye’re off; I hain’t. I’m a dimmycrat ! ” responded 
Master Miggs, blandly. “ But I ain’t arter no office, I tell 
yer. I’m in ther perfesh ! ” 

“Washington,” Mrs. Browne said to the appearing negro, 
“show these persons out ! ” 


A DRAMA TIC LEADING MAN. 


65 


“Look a-yeah, Morse Jackpots,” Wash said, with a wave 
of his hand, “ de maddum, she’s ’spectin’ cumpney, an’ ud 
like to hab de use ob dis departmunt kin’ o’ temperrerry ! ” 

Larry stared at the negro, then at Miles. Striking a great 
pose, he cried : 

‘ ‘ Never min’ us, Agustis Siezer ! We kin fin’ our way 
’thout th’ light o’ ycr eyes. ‘ Stan’ not upun th’ order o’ yer 
goin,’ but git, at wunst ! ” 

Mrs. Browne turned to Miles : 

‘ ‘ I insist upon your going instantly. I hear my brother 
moving overhead. He will be down to lunch. Will you 
leave or not? ” 

“Yes, I will, Lady Lofty,” Miles replied, passing into the 
hall. “Come along, Larry ; the lady will set up the lunch ! ” 

“ Kerect, guv’ner ! Yer may dissemmernate,” the boy 
answered. ‘ ‘ I ble’eve I kin surround a weal pie ! ” 

“Little boy ! Horrid little boy ! ” ejaculated the beaten 
Mrs. Browne. ‘ ‘ If you speak that way, where do you expect 
to go ? ” 

“Ter Congris’, yer bet yer socks! I’m trainin’ now!” 
And with these hideous words still ringing in her ears, the 
lady of the mansion heard the front door slam as she sank 
exhausted in a chair. 

“ Well, you kind o’ riled Lady Lofty,” Miles remarked to 
the boy, as they turned toward Madison Square. 

“ She's all right ! Ther’ hain’t no harm in her!” Larry 
chirped back. ‘ ‘ Good ’art, but no muscle ! ” 

“ And so you’re an actor ? ” 

“Lor’! no; not yit! I’m honly a leadin' man!” the boy 
answered. “You see, guv’ner, no feller’s an actor ’till he’s 
ben on de road wid a fly-snap an’ beat five hotels by follerin’ 
his trunk outen three-story back, by de bed cord ! But, I’m 
in trainin’ — Hi am ! ” 

“ Then you do act plays? ” 


5 


66 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


“Yer kin certify I I does the lead an’ Pete he does 
t’hevvies, in ther Tompkins Square Grand Opera House 
combema -shun! Yer jist orter see us die — wid der lime- 
light on an’ de orchestry a-playin’ a boss song-an’dance ! 
Sa-ay, guv’ner ! Didn’t yer never see a combina-^//^^ leadin’ 
man ? ” 

They were crossing the square and Tarry — quite regardless 
of publicity in rehearsal — dropped into song. Not unmind- 
ful of the proper breaks, walk-around and clog steps, he 
sang in not unpleasing voice : 

“If yer want’er pull the dollars, send for me, 

I’m the slickest leadin’ man, ye’ ever see ! 

I’m fly an’ I guess I’m upter snuff ! 

I’m chock full of ‘ I ’ and ‘ me ’ — 

As an artist oughter be — 

Wen he feels he’s exactly good enough ! 

For I am a leading man ! 

Oh! Yes! 

“I’m a combina -shun leading man ! 

I smash all female hearts, 

When I play tli’ lovers’ parts — 

For I am— a— leading man ! ” 

“ There’s more on it?” he continued, interrogatively— 
“Nineteen werses an’ all de dances ! ” 

That 11 do just now. You see I’m not in the managing 
line,” Miles answered; adding to himself: “This boy is 
sharp and seems solid. He might be of use.” 

Master Miggs was busy trying a clog-step on the asphalt. 

“Say, Tarry!” Miles suddenly broke in upon his study. 

Suppose there was a fellow I wanted to ” 

“Trot him out ! O ! Show’m to me ! I’ll go f’r’im, you 
may rumernate!” Tarry cried, breaking off his rehearsal 
and falling into good sparring pose. “ Oh ! I’ll erec’ a man- 
sard roof over his top-story bay winder ! That’s mer name ! 


A DRAMATIC LEADING MAN. 


67 

Jest sliow’m ter me ! ” And he landed a vicious left-hander 
into space. 

But, suppose he was a dangerous fellow ; desperate ? 
Miles queried, with a nod of approval. 

“Ho! Hi know; one o’ them nickel-plate, copper-back 
frauds, wot hides ’hind dimind pins an’ felt hats, liin hevery 
Himerikin Border Dramy ! Lor’ ! Guv’ner, they ain’t dang’rus 
— outen th’ cast ! ” 

“ You’ll do ! ” Mr. Miles responded confidently. “ Where 
could I find you, when needed ? ” 

“ Allers roun’ Tompkins Square, near th’ Gran’ Opery 
House. That’s down the cellar, next ter Scheifferlein’s bier- 
hans , secon’ door frum de corner. Say, guv’ner ! ” and 
Larry went down deep in his pocket — “I hain’t got m’ order 
book handy ; but yer kin jest cum’ in any time. I’ll men- 
tion it t’our treasurer an’ he’ll chalk yer hat — sure ! ” 

“ So you’ve got a treasurer ? ” 

“Yer kin specerlate ! Th’ Comberna -shun Acters’ Per- 
tecktiv’ Assosya-s/zzzzz an’ Civ'l Servus Treasury Fund, fur 
mentil, morril an’ mutechurl improve-?;?^// ” 

“Well, then, put that in the treasury,” Miles said, hand- 
ing him a dollar. 

The boy hesitated a moment ; then took the piece and 
pocketed it as he answered coolly : 

“Stamps? Look-a here, guv’ner, I warn’t fishin’ arter 
that , yer kin repose ! I only cum’ ter thank ye’ fur savin’ 
me from de hosses. Howsomedever ! Ye see biz hes bin 
tollable light at th’ box-office, this run ; an’ nex’ week 
we’re goin’ to put on * Ortheller.’ Hit’s a sure card ; jest 
hauls ’em in ! ” 

“ All right, Larry ; ” the new Maecenas answered, as they 
passed into Broadway. ‘ ‘ I’ll drop round to-morrow night 

and see By th’ eternal Jackpot ! Wonder if he 

twigged me ? ” 


68 JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 

Mr. Miles interrupted himself suddenly and hastily turned 
from the crossing as a stylish brougham, with liveried driver, 
almost brushed him in its rapid turn. In it sat an elegantly 
dressed, but black-looking, man pulling his drooping mous- 
tache, and apparently in deep thought. 

‘ ‘ Guess he didn’t ! Seems to be living pretty well, though ! ’ ’ 
Miles muttered, as the brougham rolled out of sight. ‘ ‘ Won- 
der what lay he’s on now ? Well, I’ll know ’fore mornin’, I 
guess, ef I don’t lose the lead ! ” 

The boy — with his shrewd eyes following the old gam- 
bler’s — gently pulled his sleeve : ‘ ‘ Sa-ay ! Guv’ner, is that 
th’ feller ye meant ? Yer kind o’ look it. See ? ” 

Mr. Miles pulled himself together. 

“ Mebbe it be ; mebbe it ben’t,” he answered in Delphic 
form ; then stood thinking a moment before he added : 
“Tarry, I guess I’ll send a note by you. It’s safer than 
these little red-caps, and then we’ll separate for the present. 
I’ve an engagement with my lawyer. But I’ll need you 
again. I guess I can trust you.” 

He studied the boy’s face keenly as he spoke, then turned 
decidedly and approached a news-stand near, asking for a 
card and envelope. 

“Yer kin truss me — th’ whole hog!” the leading man 
responded, stoutly. ‘ ‘ W’en yer grabbed them hosses’s heads 
an’ yanked me outen ther hoofs, it kinder closed yer mor’- 
gidge on my life, yer may estermate ! ‘ ’Tis mine — ’tis his’n ! 
— an’ has had slaves by thousands ! ’ ” 

“All right ! My boy you are, when I need you,” the other 
answered quietly, as he sealed the envelope carefully. ‘ ‘ Now, 
take this to S. Mark’s Place, and watch the number carefully. 
Put it in the gentleman' s own hands. You have plenty of time. 
I don’t think he’s at home just now.” 

“Kerect, boss!” Larry responded, with a meaning wink. 
“He’ll get it in his own pertickler, inderwideurl fist.” 


A DRAMA TIC LEADING MAN. 


69 


“You can stop for your lunch on the way,” Miles added. 
“But be sure and drink Lady Lofty’s health. She’s the 
queen of trumps and no mistake ! ” 

“ She’s a daisy an’ a puddin’,” Larry answered, swinging 
the rimless hat in farewell. ‘ ‘ And sa-ay ! Ef this yere note 
ain’t delivered to th’ queen’s taste, yer may jist remark — 
‘ Lawrence Irving Macready Barrett Forrest Miggs, I love 
yer, but never mo’ be hofficer o’ mine ! ’ ” 

And, with this reassuring asseveration, the strange pair 
separated ; the boy darting before a passing omnibus, while 
Tip Miles stood wrapped in thought deep enough to shut 
out the hurrying crowds about him. 


t 



I 


JO 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


CHAPTER X. 

AN ART EVOLUTIONIST. 

It was not a very cheerful party that assembled for the two 
o’clock luncheon. Mrs. Browne was even more stately than 
before, and her eyes, ever and anon, sought Juny’s with 
curious questioning, though she spoke no word of the strange 
rencontre. 

The girl’s eyes gave no response. Their lids were rather 
heavy and swollen, ‘ ‘ from sleeping too long,” she explained ; 
but their vision seemed turned inward and she spoke only in 
brief replies to interested questioners. 

Will Browne was equally distrait , his mind conjuring up 
all manner of issues possible to spring from the meeting of 
the conspirators the next night. And Gus was restless and 
expectant, constantly asking if that was not the door-bell. 

At last, breaking an awkward pause, Mrs. Browne said : 

‘ ‘After all, brother, it was best to fix the excursion to May 
Bower farm for to-morrow. I really am anxious for you to 
inspect the property and judge of my stewardship in your 
absence.” 

“And I am willing to endorse it without inspection,” he 
answered, “ though I must show Juny the cottage.” 

“ The cottage is, of course, precisely as you left it ; but I 
should have pulled down the old farm-house had not the 
manager demurred,” Mrs. Browne said. 

“And you just must interview that agent, Uncle Ran,” 
Gus cut in. ‘ ‘ He’s the very primest factor ” 

4 4 Augustine ! ” again incised the maternal voice ; this time 
very sharply. “There will be room in the boat for one 
gentleman. Why not ask Colonel de la Plata ? ” 


AN ART E VOL UTIONIST. y £ 

“For two reasons, mamma,” Gus replied, not unrebell- 
iously. “He isn’t one bit crimp, and I’ve already written to 
ask Michael An That is the bell !” 

This time Miss Browne was ahead of her mother, inter- 
rupting herself and rushing to the mirror to fluff up still 
more the bangs of her soft, fair hair. 

Before she had completed that task to her own satisfaction, 
Clay entered with a card. Miss Browne pounced upon it, as 
she cried : 

“I knew it! Now, you’ll see him , Bud. Ask him in here, 
Clay ; nobody minds Michael Angelo ! He’s one of the 
family ! ” And she tossed the card to her brother. He 
glanced at it with an amused smile, then read aloud : 

“ ‘Mr. M. Angelo Take, Art Evolutionist and Lecturer 
upon the True.’ Well, Sis, if he be as wonderful as his card, 
he is worth seeing ! Show him in here, Wash.” 

“ Jesso, Morse Will, jesso ! ” the negro answered ; but he 
muttered as he strode away : ‘ ‘ But he doan ’ look like nuffin 
I ebber see befo’, sho’s yo ’ born ! ” 

“Now you’ll see him, Juny ! ” Gus exclaimed, in a great 
flutter. “Don’t fail to twig his clothes. They’re just too 
crimp ! ” 

And, if the girl’s dress he designed was novelty, his own 
was revelation! A combined Prince Albert and morning 
gown — of soft, drab material and reaching below the knees — 
hung loosely away from his not ungraceful figure. What 
pantaloons showed beneath it in placid greenish-blue, flop- 
ped loosely over square shoes of russet leather. A low, 
loose collar rolled over a. bright cardinal tie and rested upon 
a square vest of pale blue satin. But the femininely delicate 
hands were faultlessly gloved, and the face— almost girlish 
and with clear hazel eyes, beneath a broad, low forehead, 
from which the long brown hair was brushed straight back — 
saved this singular make-up from absolute burlesque. 


72 JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 

‘ ‘ How d’ye do ? Delighted, I’m sure ! ” Gus cried warmly, 
as she took his No. 6 glove in her .fair, neat hand. “This 
is my uncle, Colonel Baylor, Mr. Lake ! My brother, Cap- 
tain Wilmot Browne ! ” 

And, as the newcomer greeted the colonel, she whispered 
to Will : 

“ Now, isn't he just too crimp for anything ? ” 

“Entirely ! Oscar Wilde, washed and combed ! ” was the 
cavalryman’s whispered reply, as he turned to shake the 
proffered lavender No. 6. 

“Miss Juniata Baylor ! ” Mrs. Browne said, with frigid 
stateliness. 

“Another cousin?” Juny asked, gazing in much wonder- 
ment, but frankly extending her hand. 

“No, unfortunately!” Mr. Take responded, with empha- 
sis and an admiring glance at Gus. “But an humble 
disciple of the true in Art and a worshiper at the shrine of 
the Beautiful, nevertheless ! Delighted, Mrs. Browne,” he 
added, earnestly, “to see you in such a becoming light! 
Permit me, however, to temper its tone somewhat. Ah ! 
There ! Now, that is better ! ” 

He turned to the window, rearranging the folds of the 
curtains ; pausing to look back at the ladies, under his hand, 
as he spoke : 

“There! See! We have the true pre-Raphaelite effect 
upon Miss Gustine’s left temple ! Ah! this is better ! Now, 
you’ll do very well, Mrs. Browne ! ” 

“ Thank you, Mr. Lake!” the lady last addressed replied, 
with all the metallic coolness of a cream-freezer. 

“ Is the man an upholster, aunt?” whispered Juny, inno- 
cently, her wide eyes fixed upon the visitor. 

“ Nothing half so respectable — only an ass ! ” Mrs. Browne 
replied, in the same whisper. 

“Oh! you’re a painter, eh?” the girl queried, aloud. 


AN ART E VOL UT/ONIS T. 


73 


‘ Heaven forbid ! ” returned Mr. Lake, fervently. Noth- 
ing so crude, I hope ! But I do use Art, to evolve result 
from the aimless working of the Old Masters. Occasionally 
I evolve some masterful idea in tone ; never in color ! I 
have here a trifle for Miss Gustine.” 

He drew a rolled canvas from his deep pocket, holding it 
against the wall as he spoke : 

“A symphony in asphaltum ! A tone-study of Nature’s 
inharmonious omissions, without use of color ; a flower- 
poem where everything is rythmic, without distraction of 
story, verse or thought. Now, as this proves, color is crude 
— vulgar ! Feeling, and the emotional collaterals of feeling, 
must be conveyed by expressiveness, rather than by expres- 
sion ! Suggestiveness is ever higher than suggestion ; Art 
thus becoming the vehicle for the true innerness of soul ! 
The eye-prism, when properly focused in the brain-lens, be- 
comes powerful to supply perfected combinations of color- 
need from this tone base ! A picture without color is a song 
without words ; suggested perfection, instead of fruitless at- 
tempting of the unattainable! I name this study— ‘ Roses 
as they Ought to Be ! ’ ” 

“Thank you for mentioning that.” Will said, gravely. 
“ We will appreciate it so much better! ” 

“Oh ! And it’s really for me? That lovely thing! ” Miss 
Browne gushed. “How caii you, Mr. Lake? Why, that 
gem is the one all the critics attacked so, after your last 
public evolution ! ” 

“And how I pitied them!” Michael Angelo answered 
placidly. “One poor fellow declared that this tone-poem 
suggested ‘splashes of whitewash upon a retired pen- 
wiper ’ ! ” 

“ Can I get that fellow’s address? ” Will queried, quickly. 

“I never asked,” the artist answered absently, but more 
naturally; “for my very next public evolution netted me 


74 


JUNY; OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


over sixteen hundred dollars ! Standing room at 7 .*30 ! By 
which I mean,” he added, in slight confusion, “that the evo- 
lution of the True, appealing to the aggregate, has no time 
to descend to the individualization of discussion. My Art, 
in its movement of the grand mass, bears with it the resist- 
ance from the ultimate atom ! ’ ’ 

“You took first prize in flower-painting, my daughter,” 
Colonel Baylor said bluntly ; ‘ ‘ What do you say to Mr. 
Take’s roses ? ” 

“ I can hardly say anything,” Juny answered, with one of 
her bright smiles. “I am only an ultimate atom, dad.” 

“Praise freely,” Mr. Lake said, gently, but with half- 
closed eyes. “Art has no sensitiveness and the True is 
rock-based ! Say what you, as a beginner at the threshold 
of the Beautiful, like in the Symphony.” 

‘ ‘ I never saw a symphony before,” Juny answered, simply. 
“I have only heard them. Therefore, I could scarcely 
judge it, as that. But as a picture it does not convey any- 
thing at all. Professor McGilp taught us that the best art 
was the best reproduction of nature. Now, I was brought 
up in the woods and sunlight. I ought to recognize nature ; 
but I never saw anything like them growing anywhere ! ” 

“Why, Juny!” deprecated Gus, “ I’m sure I have.” 

“Then it must have been at night, against a dark wall 

Lor’, dad ! How rude you’ve made me ! I’m sure I beg your 
pardon, Mr. Lake, for telling the truth !” 

“Juniata is wholly unconventional,” Mrs. Browne 
broke in, with ill-repressed delight. “Surely, Mr. Lake, 
you must forgive her want of appreciation because of her 
candor. ’ ’ 

“ Naturally ! Miss Baylor is a nocturne in cold gray sim- 
plicity,” he answered, letting the sketch slide to the floor 
and turning to Wilmot Browne : “ Your sister tells me you 

have been in Italy — the nursing-mother of the true in Art. 


AN ART E VOL UTIONIS T. 


75 


Like most untutored travelers, of course, you fell in love 
with the Antiques ? ’ ’ 

“No,” Will answered simply, “but with one of the 
moderns.” 

“Was it a nude? ” 

“Oh, dear! No! She was always extremely well 
dressed. ’ ’ 

“ Apropos of dress,” the truth-searcher continued, seem- 
ingly wholly oblivious of chaff, “ I have just completed a 
little morning-gown study for Miss Gustine. It is an andante 
in full-moony greys and autumn-leaf browns, where a cres- 
cendo of cardinal leads to pleats of light blue, that carry the 
motif in the twinned octaves of harmonious tint ! ’ ’ 

“ How genuine! How ideal ! Yet, how true in art ! ” 
Will cried. ‘ ‘ It recalls that once, on the Bois de Boulogne, 
I was thrilled through my entire being by a combination 
costume, wherein the motif was synchronous and the air was 
carried by the twilled twaddle of homogeneous hyfalutin ! ” 
“That’s real mean ! ” Gus whispered, as the disciple said 
something to Colonel Baylor. ‘ ‘ You’re not one bit crimp ! ’ ’ 
“ But, sis,” was the whispered reply, “ that fellow would 
not tumble if the Vatican fell on him.” 

“I only called, Miss Gustine,” Lake said, turning to 
them, “ to acknowledge your kind remembrance about the 
yachting party to-morrow. Thanks ! ’ ’ 

“Oh ! welks!” the young lady replied. “We take the 
cars to the Sound, and if there’s a nice wind it will be jolly 
crimp ! ” 

“Yes; wind may be permissible in yachting,” the evo- 
lutionist half-sighed. “ But I hate sun. It is so glaring in 
tone ; so hard and crude in results of shadow ! ” 

“ You don’t seem to admire nature,” Juny said. 

“ Scarcely,” he answered. “ Nature is so unskillful every- 
where in her handling of contrasted color ! ’ ’ 


76 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


“Oh! what a novel idea!” Gus cried. “Just too crimp 
for anything ! ’ ’ 

“Well, ladies, I must take my leave. I am going to pre- 
pare an aquatic costume. I do hope it will be cloudy ; for I 
have thrown together quite a little gem — a trifle of my own 
composition, combining suggestive mezzo-toned stuffs with 
cut harmonious to placid sea- tints on a shadowed-ocean 
noon.” 

And with an emphatic warning from Mrs. Browne that she 
started at noon, and that it was quite unconventional to 
delay a party, the apostle of the True in Art took his de- 
parture. 



\ 

MUTUAL RECOGNITION'S. 


77 


CHAPTER XI. 

MUTUAL, RECOGNITIONS. 

Scarcely had the street door hidden Mr. Lake’s retreating 
coat tails, when Will Browne’s laugh rang out, loud and long. 
Indeed, so contagious was it that Juny joined in with a ring- 
ing peal of happy girlish laughter. Mrs. Browne’s stateliness 
would not permit her a share in the chorus ; but, for once, 
she did not check the ebullition ; and the colonel’s face 
showed his appreciation of the cause of merriment. 

“ What in the world are you two laughing at ? ” Gus que- 
ried, with a pout. “Tell a fellow, can’t you? ’Tisn’t one 
bit crimp to be selfish! ” 

Juny controlled her risibles so suddenly as to produce a 
fierce snort, and answered : 

“I really can’t say, Gus. I was laughing because Will 
did.” 

“And I,” he chimed in, “was laughing at — nothing ! 
But say, Gus, are there many men in society like Mr. Lake ? ” 

“ For society’s sake, I hope not ! ” the colonel broke in. 

“Why, after all, uncle,” Will rejoined, “he is only a 
result. If society did not want such abnormalities, they 
could never grow upon it.” 

‘ ‘ He’s no fool, anyway, ’ ’ the older man answered. ‘ ‘ From 
the one thing he dropped naturally — that the abuse of critics 
paid him well — I believe he trades on his affectations ; selling 
them to bigger fools than himself ! ” 

“Quite right, brother Randolph!” Mrs. Browne ex- 
claimed. “ He sells more than his lisp and his twaddle. At 
all his ‘Evolutions’ — as he calls his lectures — he exhibits 
samples of just the proper stuffs for dress or house adorn- 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


78 

ment. Of course, the creature is paid for it ; and he is really 
no better than a person in trade ! ” 

“ I hope you are right,” the colonel answered. “ If so, it 
is more to his credit than anything I have heard.” 

Mrs. Browne stared hard at her peculiar brother ; but she 
knew that tone and, waiving discussion, said : 

“ But he is so dreadfully unconventional — so different, for 
instance, from Colonel de la Plata.” 

“ But who is this Brazilian you speak of, mamma? ” Will 
asked. ‘ ‘ Does he belong to the legation ? ’ ’ 

“Assuredly not, Wilmot, my son ! He is too immensely 
rich, and quite too elegant ! ’ ’ 

“He is mamma’s last Monte Cristo,” Gus put in pertly. 
“ She thinks the world is his ; but he isn’t one bit crimp ! ” 
“ Has he letters or good introductions ? ” Will persisted. 

“ Or is he another result ? ” 

“ He is feted by our best people ! ” Mrs. Browne bridled 
up — “Wilmot, my son, I think I am quite capable of judg- 
ing proper acquaintances, else I have wasted my life in 
society.” 

As she spoke, the bell again sounded, long and loud ; and 
another servant entered the lunch-room with another card. 

Miss Browne read it, with her pretty nose unusually 
tip-tilted : 

“ ‘ El Major Manuel Corramente de la Plata-y-Doro /’ 
Pshaw ! I’m sick of him ! Please come in, mamma ! ” 

‘ ‘ Certainly not ! ’ ’ responded that Roman mother. ‘ ‘ Only 
gentlemen of the old school desire to see the mothers. But, 
Augustine, be very cordial to him, and remember that he 

has family and money ! ” 

During this, the tall and elegantly-dressed man was look- 
ing complacently at his reflection in the drawing-rootn mir- 
ror. But an ugly smile showed the regular white teeth, 
through his black moustache, as he said to it : 


MUTUAL RECOGNITIONS. 


79 


“ Now for a bold stroke ! The old cat is sure not to show 
up. Fortune favors the bold ; and everything favors me but 
the girl herself. Hang me ! if her resistance has not piqued 
me into love— real love— for her ! But, besides, the old lady 
is rich and that cursed old uncle will leave her half his 
fortune ! Ah ! Miss Augustine ! How well you are look- 
ing!” 

He bowed gracefully as he took the girl’s hand, stood until 
she seated herself upon a small sofa, then dropped easily into 
the rather small space beside her. 

“lam truly fortunate,” he went on easily, “in finding 
you at home and alone ! But you seem rather wearied — 
a trifle distraite. Ah ! Miss Augustine, I fear it is from late 
hours and too much of the german. Your friends can not 
afford to let you be careless of your health.” 

“ No, indeedy ! I’m not hurting myself,” was the reply; 
and Gus looked rather yearningly at the door. 

“ But you still keep up your dissipation?” he persisted. 

‘ ‘ Not at this season. I go scarcely anywhere but to teas 
and receptions with mamma,” the girl answered, wearily. 
Then, catching her reflection in the mirror, she inwardly 
whispered to it : “ He isn’t one bit crimp ! Awfully heavy 
on hand ! ” 

“ Were you at the Charlton wedding?” the visitor asked. 
“ I did not go, you know. Lately, somehow, I can not bear 
weddings,” he added, with a sentimental glance. “They 
make me feel my loneliness in the world. That loneliness I 
now ’ ’ 

“Oh! I just dote on weddings!” Gus interrupted, with 
sudden animation. “ Why, the flowers and the dresses and 
the ushers are just too crimp — especially the ushers!” 

“ That is the superficial view ; but, beneath it, I realize — 
of late — how few weddings are for love ! ’ ’ And the man 
sighed deeply. 


80 JUNY: OR ONL Y ONE GIRL'S STOR Y. 

* ‘ Gracious ! How should / know ? ’ ’ Gus answered, grow- 
ing bored again. 

“ Of course you do not,” he rejoined. “ You would never 
give your hand unless the thrice-blessed man had first won 
your heart ! ’ * 

‘ ‘ I don’t know ” the girl began. 

‘ ‘ I could swear you do ! ” He rose and stood before her ; 
handsome, dark, sinister, as he looked down on her with fire 
glowing in his black eyes. ‘ ‘ I could swear that you never 
would ! That your pure woman’s heart would abhor the idea 
of a lifetime of bondage to false vows ! I know — I feel — 
that such a heart would famish without love ! Oh ! if I could 
only know whether that heart is still free ! ’ ’ 

‘‘Lor’! He’s coming awfully near a pop!” Gus whis- 
pered to her mirrored self; but aloud she only said : 

“ Gracious ! Colonel de la Plata ! ” 

The black eyes still burned down upon her. Suddenly — 
and as if not hearing her reply — he exclaimed : 

“ Augustine ! Can you find in it pity for one who 
deeply — No ! do not turn away — who deeply, wildly — loves 
you f ” 

He stooped and seized her hand. She withdrew it abruptly; 
the slim slipper beating a quick tattoo upon the carpet. But 
the man went on, half-pleading, half-defiant, as he stood 
erect before her : 

“ Listen to me, Augustine ! I know my utter unworthi- 
ness of you ! I have faults, many and grave. I have been 
held at the forge of society, that tests the temper ; but I have 
come out true as steel — to you / Oh ! I almost dread the 
answer I have plead for. No ! Do not speak yet ! ” 

“ I must!" Gus replied firmly, but with crimson cheeks 
and eyes averted. ‘ ‘ This surprises me so ! ” 

‘ ‘ But 3 r ou have known me many months ; you must have 
seen ” 


MUTUAL RECOGNITIONS. 


Si 


“I have known you as a casual acquaintance,” Gus an- 
swered, borrowing her mother’s manner, ‘ ‘ and you must 
have seen that your simplest attention was never en- 
couraged. ’ ’ 

“ But you will give me hope that time ” 

“ I am awfully sorry to pain you,” she interrupted firmly, 
“but I can not!” 

‘ * And you really refuse me ? ’ * There was mingled pain 
and menace in the man’s voice. 

‘ ‘ I repeat that I have never encouraged you to expect any- 
thing else ! ” the girl replied with dignity. 

“And you will noi hear me?” His brow grew darker 
and he strode rapidly across the floor. 

“ It would not be honest,” she said simply. “ I can not!'* 

He turned and seized her hand. Again she withdrew it ; 
but he hurried on passionately : 

“ Augustine ! I will speak ! I must tell you how I love 
you ! I have been a worldling ; a hard, bitter man ; yes ! 
even a wicked one ! I am no changeful boy ! For twenty 
years my heart has slept — only the sound of your voice— 
the thrill of your touch — has waked it ! I love you as only 
strong natures can love ! ’ * 

“Stop, sir ! I insist ! ” Gus spoke angrily now. 

He stood still before her. Again that hard smile curved 
his lips over the white teeth, in a sort of snarl ; and his voice 
was hard and cruel as he cried : 

“ Oh ! girl, beware how you turn the wild love of a man 
like me into still wilder hate ! ” 

“ Mr. de la Plata ! ” Gus rose as she spoke. “You forget 
yourself ! ” 

“ By the God above us ! ” he answered hoarsely, “ I will 
not forget you ; will not let you forget me ! You shall 
listen ! I will not leave you until ” 


6 


82 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


“Pardon me! I think you will,” she answered in Mrs. 
Browne’s best form ; and moving to the door swiftly, she 
called : “ Mamma ! Will you come ? ” 

“ They are all up stairs, Gus,” Juny called out from the 
library, supposing the guest had gone. And, as she spoke, 
she passed into the hall, just as the man, with a muttered 
oath, rushed to the table for his hat. A glance at Juny’s 
face held him rooted to the floor ; a dazed memory seeming 
to struggle for life in his eyes. 

Equally strange was the expression in the girl’s. Doubt, 
amazement and something akin to terror, flashed through 
the gaze she kept fastened on his face. 

The man was the first to recover himself. With a half 
shrug, he turned, roughly opened the door and passed out, 
muttering : 

“ Impossible ! I’m an ass ! ” 

Only after the door slammed behind him, Juny drew a 
long, deep breath. 

‘ ‘ He, too ? and in this house ? ’ ’ she said, aloud. 4 4 Pshaw ! 
It can not be possible ! ’ ’ 

Gus stood in the drawing-room door, staring at the other 
girl. The strange result of her prompt measures with her 
distasteful admirer had surprised her, equally as it had 
seemed to surprise the other two. 

44 What in the world do you mean? ” she now asked, ad- 
vancing to Juny. 44 What is it that can not be possible? ” 

“Oh! I was only thinking!” Juny answered, quickly 
recovering presence of mind. 44 So that is Colonel de la 
Plata?” 

“Yes; that is mamma’s latest Monte Cristo,” Gus re- 
plied. “But she’ll scarcely see him again soon. Did you 
think you had seen him before ? ’ ’ 

4 4 1 can not say certainly, ’ ’ Juny said thoughtfully. 44 But 
it is a wonderful likeness to a man I knew years ago.” 


M UTUAL RECOGNITIONS . 


% 


“ And that one was a bad man ? ” Gus asked eagerly. 

“ The worst of men ! ” the other girl answered gravely. 

“ Oh ! How awfully crimp that would be! ” Gus cried. 
4 ‘ So romantic ! ’ * 

Took here, Gus,” Juny answered bluntly, but passing 
her arm about the other’s slim waist, “ I have never been 
in what Aunt Browne calls ‘society/ so, perhaps, my eyes 
may be sharper than people’s who have dust thrown in 
theirs all the time. I think I recognized the man. If so, 
he is only a common gambler.” 

‘ ‘ A common gambler ! ” echoed Gus, recoiling in dismay. 
“ Oh ! How horribly vulgar ! But you heard me order him 
out ? Yet we all thought — we believed^ ” 

“ Never believe what you hear, my dear/’ Juny answered 
brightly— “ unless it be disagreeable. But there is no use 
moping over it. If he be not the gambler I am sure he is, 
he certainly must have some of his traits, with that identical 
face. And besides, his manner, even more than the face, 
carries me back to the very crisis of my life.” 

“ Tell me about it ! ” Gus exclaimed. 

Juny hesitated a moment before she replied : 

“ Not now, Gus. It is a long story, and I do not feel that 
I can tell it — now. Anyway, this Colonel de la Plata, as 
Will says, ‘ won’t do to tie to.’ Don’t you think so ? ” 

“ I certainly do ! ” the society girl answered. Then she 
literally beamed as she added : “ He’s not one bit like M. 

A. Not nearly so crimp ! ” 

“ Not nearly Juny echoed simply ; whereupon she found 
herself seized in the sudden embrace of shapely arms, with 
showers of kisses — let us hope not vicarious — falling upon 
her face. 

Then, breathless, Miss Browne rushed up the stairs, fling- 
ing down behind her the benison : ‘ ‘ Oh ! you dear — sweet — 

wise — crimp darling!’’ 


84 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


CHAPTER XII. 

ON THE TRAIT. 

On leaving the lnnch-room, Wilmot Browne lounged into 
the garden with his cigar ; and, taking the detective’s papers 
from his pocket, reread them carefully. 

“ I can’t make much of it,” he said presently, tossing 
away his half-smoked Havana and striding about the walks. 

‘ * The clue is so slight ! After all, it may mean nothing, 
for what hold could these adventurers have on uncle ? Pshaw ! 
I really believe I’m on a wild-goose chase, and I’ll drop it, 

unless Beagle And he, too ! ” he interrupted himself. 

“ He’s a trifle too sharp and too machine-like to suit an old 
Indian fighter. Why, they might finish their deviltry and 
get off before he got half his red-tape unrolled ! ’ ’ 

He moved moodily about the garden, silent for some time, 
but continuing the same thought. For he spoke aloud at 
last : 

“Yes; there must be something in the papers, else the 
black gambler would never be so keen to get them, nor the 
rusty one so loth to let go. Maybe a tramp will clear the 
cobwebs out of my brains ! ” 

Opening the postern gate in the high brick wall, the young 
officer strode rapidly through the not crowded streets of the 
fashionable quarter. Thence, he turned into Second avenue 
and down toward St. Mark’s Place, stopping, at last, before 
a small but tidy house and pulling the bell briskly. The 
door swung open, seemingly of itself, and the dim light of 
the hallway demanded a second glance to descry a tall, gaunt 
old woman there. The hard, flinty face, showing around 
the half-opened door, might have been cut from yellow ochre. 


ON THE TRAIL. 


85 


“ Well ? ” she said briefly. 

* ‘ Is Captain Beagle at home ? * ’ Browne asked. 

“Who ? ” repeated the woman, still monosyllabic. 

“ Captain Hunter Beagle,” he answered. “ It’s all right. 
I employ him. ’ ’ 

“ His office is ” 

“Yes, I know; the Broadway agency. But I want to 
see him privately.” 

“He’s out,” the woman said. 

“ When will he be in ? ” Browne asked. 

“ Can’t say. Leave a message ? ” 

“ By Jove ! You ought to be a soldier,” Will said, grimly. 
“Yes, I’ll leave a line, unless you think ” 

“I don’t think,” the woman interrupted, “I know. 
Movements uncertain. Want a pad? ” 

“No; this will do.” Captain Browne took out a card 
and penciled on it: “ Called to say employ extra help. 
Lose sight of neither man. See me to-morrow morning y 
anyway .” 

The woman took the card and, much to the writer’s sur- 
prise, read it deliberately. 

“Now, I know,” he said shortly, “you’re Beagle’s 
partner.” 

“No; mother,” the yellow ochre Sphinx answered un- 
perturbed. Turning the card over, she read the name and 
added: “Oh! You're all right. He was writing to you. 
Come in.” 

As he obeyed, Beagle mere closed the front door carefully 
and opened that of the front room — half parlor, half office — 
where the detective worked up his private cases. On his 
desk, amid piles of red- taped papers, lay an envelope, ad- 
dressed to Browne, the ink scarce dry. 

“ Um ! He hasn’t been out long ! ” the soldier remarked, 
examining the superscription. 


S6 JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 

A grim smile showed the woman’s large, yellow t.eeth an 
instant. Then she relapsed into yellow ochre again as she 
said : 

“You ought to be in the business. You twig close. No ; 
he’s not gone long. On a shadow, I guess.’’ 

The note was brief— “ I have their meeting place for to- 
morrow. Will notify you in time. BP 

‘ ‘ Anything more ? ’ ’ the maternal detective asked. 

“Give me that card,” Will answered; and he added: 
“ Keep place closely shadowed. Come early to-morrow .” 

Then, leaving the house, he strolled moodily homeward. 
Reaching the corner below his mother’s house, the soldier 
saw a man run hastily down the .steps and enter a brougham 
standing at the door. As he and the vehicle approached 
each other, Browne said to himself : 

‘ ‘ Another of Gus’ evolutionists ! They are a rum lot. 
Great God! Can it be?” And he stared at the man, 
who — busied in his own thought — never cast a glance at 
him from beneath his knotted, black brow. 

Prompt to act ever, Will Browne strode rapidly after the 
carriage, several times almost losing it, before it pulled up 
at the door of a vety fashionable club. Its occupant alighted 
and entered, his pursuer passing the house slowly to assure 
himself of the place. 

“ I’m sold, I guess,” he said to himself. “The Coyote 
would scarcely be a member of ‘ The Orphic ! ’ However, 
it is easy to ascertain.” 

He mounted the steps, the door swinging wide as the pol- 
ished hallman bowed low. 

“ Is Major Van Borst in the club?” Browne asked, naming 
a retired officer whom he knew was an old member. 

“ No, sir,” the man answered. “The major has gone to 
Governor’s Island for the day.” 

“ Indeed ! Then that was not he who just entered ? ” 


ON THE TRAIL . 


87 

Oh, no, sir ! That is Colonel de la Plata, a visiting 
member.” 

Browne hesitated. The thing was too absurd ; the Shin- 
ers’ Gap sharp a swell clubman ! But, somehow, the grim 
jest of Captain Beagle’s yellow-ochre mother flashed into his 
mind “ You ought to be in the business ; you twig close ! ” 
— and again he turned to the hallman : 

“ Can I leave a note for Major Van Borst ? ” 

Certainly, sir ! ” And a moment later Browne was in the 
reception room of the Orphic, its monogrammed Irish linen 
before him on the desk. But he noted little of the over-lav- 
ish decoration of the club ; for, in a room just opposite — his 
back turned and his attention on the waiter, bringing the 
cut-glass “ tot ” of brandy 011 a silver salver — was the man 
he sought. Hastily swallowing it, Colonel de la Plata loudly 
ordered another. 

Half ashamed of himself for playing spy, Browne scribbled 
a few words to his friend, announcing his return, then rose, 
undecided whether to go or to play out the role he had 
assumed. He examined the splendid engravings on the walls, 
the objects of vertu and the design of the Ottoman portieres. 

Suddenly he stopped, staring into a mirror before him. In 
it was reflected the picture his man cast into one in the room 
opposite. The second tot of brandy replaced by a third, 
Colonel de la Plata had thrown himself back in his chair, 
with moody brow and fixed eyes, lost in deep thought. Nor 
was it pleasant thought, judged from the expression of his 
face ; and, as Browne stared at that black brow and devilish 
expression, the night in the Shiners’ Gap came up clear 
before him ! 

. ‘ ‘ Strange he should be here ! ” he muttered. ‘ ‘ But very 
strange things happen in New York ; and Beagle said I’d be 
surprised. That may not be the Coyote ; but if not, then 
Kyle Hardy has a twin brother ! ” 


83 JUNY: OR OXLY OXE GIRL'S STORY. 

Moving from the mirror, lest his reflection might be thrown 
into the one opposite, Will touched the gong and said to the 
servant who answered : 

‘ ‘ Order me a closed cab from the nearest station at once, 
and put this in the rack for Major Van Borst.” 

Soon after, he hastily raised a newspaper before his face. 
Colonel de la Plata had pushed back his chair and risen with 
an oath. 

“Damn that vile brandy ! ” he roared at the waiter. “ I 
believe your steward waters the stuff ! Give me a card — 
quick ! ” 

“Oho! A visitor swearing at club servants and club 
liquors ! ’ ’ thought Browne. ‘ ‘ Pretty bad form, that ! He 
certainly is not a gentleman ; the more chance he may be the 
Coyote ! ” . 

The other man strode down the hall, through the door 
held open by the obsequious servant, and entered his 
brougham, with a word to the driver. And with the detect- 
ive instinct strong upon him now, Will Browne followed. 

Just at that moment his cab drove up. 

“Follow that brougham,” he said to the driver. “Do 
not lose it ; but keep a little out of sight. Here ! ” 

The man’s eyes sparkled at the gold coin dropped into his 
hand ; and it lifted to his hat — unusual concession for a cab- 
man — as he clambered to his seat and replied : 

“ K’rect, Kern’l ! I won’t lose him ! ” 

Both vehicles rattled over the cobbles, round comers and 
through cross-streets ; until, passing round Tompkins Square, 
the brougham pulled up. Will saw his man descend and 
stroll across the dingy breathing place of the human hive, 
swarming about that delectable locality. 

He followed slowly, the square being almost empty at that 
hour. No one minds anybody else’s business in the busy 
city. An occasional shop-girl glanced up admiringly at the 


ON THE TRAIL. 


3 9 

unusual advent of two strangers, well dressed and stylish, 
sauntering across Tompkins Square in broad daylight ; and 
the gamins stopped their games to “ twig the swells.” But 
at last, the foremost man hastened his pace ; turned a sharp 
corner and shot across the narrow street, under the three 
balls that decorated the dingy sign, ‘‘Isaac Schonstein, 
Broker. ’ * 

“ I am on the right trail,” Will said to himself. “ Foreign 
colonels do not frequent low pawn shops in the daytime. It 
must be something urgent, too, that brings Kyle Hardy here 
so openly. ’ ’ 

He jotted down the name and number of the shop ; re- 
crossed the square and entered his cab. 

“Drive around slowly,” he said, “until that brougham 
starts again ; but mind ! Don’t you lose it ! ” 

“You bet ! Kern’l ! ” responded cabby ; and ere long the 
two vehicles were again rolling westward, the brougham in 
the lead, until they turned into St. Mark’s Place. 

Suddenly Will’s cab almost pulled up ; then passed slowly 
down the block and he saw the chase at a stand, before a 
plain house. Its occupant got out, ran up the steps and 
opened the door with a pass-key. 

“ Stand here till I come ! ” Will said to the cabman, as he 
jumped out around the corner and moved rapidly back into 
St. Mark’s Place. The empty brougham was just moving 
off, and he slowly passed the house twice, noting the number 
and the fact that the lower blinds were closed. 

“ Well ! If this be the fly, he is deucedly near the spider’s 
web ! ” he exclaimed, as he glanced across the street. For, 
on the same block, a few doors below on the opposite side, 
he had recently interviewed Captain Beagle’s mother. 

“Wonder if he's back yet?” he muttered. “Of course 
he knows this ; but damn his red tape ! I’d better do a little 
work on my own account.” 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


90 

He halted irresolute, his foot upon the step, his hand on 
the iron baluster. He was half-minded to ring, make some 
query of the servant and find whose house it was. But, as 
he hesitated, a boy moved up the block, staring at the num- 
bers, indistinct and sometimes missing on the changed 
transoms. 

“Sa-ay, guv’ner! Is this tli’ right address ? ” cried Master 
Laurence Miggs ; “ Guess Hi’ve jest ’bout hit it ! ” And he 
extended a note to Browne, address up. 

“ I really can’t ” the latter began, interrupting him- 
self hastily, as he reached for the note and added : “ Yes ; 

that address is all right ! ’ ’ 

“Cert? No mistake?” Larry queried, not relinquishing 
his hold on the missive ; “ ’Cos the old ’un said how Hi 
wus ter be dead sure! Are you the right ’un, an’ no 
mistake ? ’ ’ 

“ Look for yourself,’’ Will replied calmly, pointing to the 
number on the house ; and he drew from the tragedian’s 
doubting fingers the screed Tip Miles had directed to 
“ Colonel M. de la Plata , No. , St. Mark's Place P 

“And here’s something for your trouble,’’ Will added in 
great glee. “Where is the old ’un now ? ” 

“Give it up! Ask me a’nuther!” responded the Mer- 
cury. “ He leff me short kind o’, an’ tole me he’d hunt me 
up wen needed. ’ ’ 

“You seem a bright boy,’’ Will answered. “Where did 
you tell the old ’un he could find you ? ’’ 

“Were should I? At ther Gran’ Opery House, cert !” 
the boy responded proudly. “You know? Tompkins 
Square, down celler— nex ’ter Scheffelein’s bierhaus ! ” 

“ Tompkins Square ! Oh ! yes — I know,” Will answered. 
“Well, I may need you, and I pay well.” 

“Yer kin licquerdate ! ” Larry cried ; then throwing him- 
self into an attitude, spouted : 


ON THE TRAIL. 


91 


“‘An’ frum tlie hower yer gasped at packing, boy — 

Think that ther stars rains fortuns on yer ! 

Ther ain’t no sich as fails!’ 

“Well, guv’ner, yer has m’ haddress ; an’ mer name’s 
Laurence Irving Forrest Macready Barrett Miggs ! But 
h’it’ll jest save time t’ask fur Larry. Howsomdever, I’m 
’bleeged for this, CurnV/ / ” 

And, with a flourish of the crownless hat, the boy ran off, 
tossing and catching the half-dollar Will had given him. 
The latter lost no time. Clutching the note tight, he crossed 
the street and pulled the Beagle bell vigorously once more. 
The yellow-ochre mother reappeared ; and, without surprise, 
simply said : 

‘ ‘Again ? ” 

“Back yet?” Will asked, with equal brevity. 

“ Been back ; gone,” was the response. 

“Any water boiling?” 

Genuine surprise crept into Mrs. Beagle’s face for an 
instant, only to creep out again ; but she wasted no words 
and nodded briefly. 

“ Get me some, quick ! This is business ! ” Browne said 
shortly. 

The singular matron, captured by mood and manner, 
closed the door, opened the office and ushered him in. 
Then, disappearing a moment, she returned with a bowl of 
steaming water. Without a word she set it on the desk ; 
without a word he held the sealed flap of the envelope over 
the hot vapor, passing it back and forth. Then he chose a 
thin, clean paper-knife and raised the flap like an expert. 
Meanwhile, the yellow ochrous hostess stood calmly by ; an 
admiration vaguely showing in her eyes, which now found 
vent in the words : 

“ Pretty neat ! Ever been in f ” 


92 


JUNY; OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


Eager and intent as he was, the naivete of the question 
moved Browne’s lips. As he carefully slipped the note from 
the envelope, he answered : 

“You understand what I’m doing ? ” 

“ Perfectly ; State’s prison ! ” Mrs. Beagle rejoined. 

As he read the brief note, Will Browne grew hot and cold. 
Then he reread it, exclaiming : 

“ By Jove ! What luck ! A close shave, though ! ” 

For Mr. Tip Miles’ note, not dated or signed, ran thus : 

“ To-morrow too late. To-night instead. Three ball Isaac: 
nine o'clock sharp." This Browne rapidly copied ; adding a 
line to urge the detective to promptness and giving the 
pawnbroker’s address, in case the tryst had been changed: 

“ We had best go down separately. I will patrol north side 
of square from 8:40 f he added in a P. S. “ If you are sharp, 
we ’ re sure of them now ! ’ ’ 

Then he turned to Mrs. Beagle, after her own way : 

“ Mucilage ? ” 

For answer, that remarkable female took the envelope 
from the table and held it to the light. Then, wiping the 
paper-knife upon her apron, .she carefully removed all the 
damp gum from its flap ; pressing it between two clean 
blotters. Next she opened a small book-case, as she re- 
marked lucidly : 

“ Government adhesive ! ’’ 

Choosing one of several bottles, she deftly gummed the flap, 
replaced the envelope between the two blotters, and placing 
the whole upon a wooden chair, sat serenely upon it. As 
she did so, the yellow ochre dame gave a short nod of ap- 
proval. 

“ You’ll do ! ” .she said. “ Better leave th’ army and join 
the profession. There!’’ She reached beneath her and 
extended the letter, compact and smooth as when first 
sealed. 


ON THE TRAIL. 


93 

‘ ‘ Give my note the instant he comes, ’ ’ Will said. ‘ ‘ Thank 
you, very much ! ” 

“What for? It’s business!” And the mother of the 
detective Gracchus closed the door upon Will, who went at 
speed for his cabman. 

“ Here ; deliver this, quick ! ” he said. “ No answer ; I’ll 
look out for the horse ! ” 

Fifteen minutes later Will Browne was in his own apart- 
ment, dressing for dinner. He looked at his watch. “Six 
o’clock,” he said. “ If it turn out all right to-night, then 
the last three hours have been better spent than any previous 
six of my life ! ’ ’ 

Shortly after, looking very much at home in evening dress 
— which not all gentlemen of fashion can truthfully be said 
to do — the handsome young cavalryman crossed the spacious 
hall and tapped at a door. 

“ May I come in ? It is Will,” he said. . 

The door opened and he almost started back in his pleased 
surprise. For the girl before him, in her full evening dress, 
was almost beautiful ; the absolute clearness of her skin and 
brightness of happy eyes lighting up the irregular, but piqu- 
ant, face, crowned with shining masses of her warm-tinted hair. 

The bare arms and perfect neck and bust gleamed out 
spotless and innocent of a single trinket from the quite 
decolletee dress, and its gracefully clinging drapery swept in 
caressing folds about the curves of the tall, lissome figure. 

“By Jove! Juny, you are superb!” Will exclaimed in 
genuine admiration. “ I’ve seen most of the city belles on 
undress parade, but you’d hold your own in the very front 
rank ! ’ * 

Again his eye traveled over the attractive picture, a soft 
flush stealing into the girl’s cheek, warming it to richer tone. 
Impulsively he took her hand, leading her before the tall hall 
mirror. 


94 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


44 Come here ! How are we for a contrast, Juny ? ” 
Naturally enough the girl moved on, standing by his side 
before the glass ; but, as she gazed into it, suddenly a burning 
rush of crimson flooded her cheeks, surging over neck, bust 
and arms. She withdrew her hand, stepping back from the 
mirror ; but her eyes were steadily fixed on the ground — 
though the flush died slowly out of the pearly skin — as she 
said quietly : 

“But, seriously, Will, I am so glad you came. I was 

crazy to tell you No ; to warn you that I mean to 

ask you if it is positively certain that both those men are 
now in New York?” 

4 4 1 was almost certain, Juny , before I went out to-day. Now, 
I know they are both here ; and I have seen the Coyote.” 

4 4 And you know that he — that he is * ’ 

“ That he is in our hands, little girl ! By this time to- 
morrow, God willing, we will have them both ! And then 

’ ’ He did not finish, but the darkening face and strong 

gesture boded little good to the ugly enemy. But after a 
moment’s pause, he added more quietly : 

“I am pretty well up in hunting Indians, Juny; but 
these pale-face devils beat the redskins by a distance ! But 
I’m on a sure trail ; and to-morrow will tell ! ” 

“Remember, Will; you promised I should help!” the 
girl cried, her slight figure drawn up to its full height and 
the rich face full of emotion. 4 4 Please let me ! Ah ! Will, 
if I could only do something for dad ! Something to prove 
how I love him ! ’ * 

“Plenty of time for that, dear little girl,” the man an- 
swered softly. “ None of us need proof of that . And,” he 
added with softened voice and an eloquent look, 44 it is rarely 
needed to tell how one loves ! ” 

Again their eyes met ; again the flood of color surged over 
brow, neck and bosom. But, just then, Mrs. Browne’s door 


ON THE TRAIL . 


95 


opened, and the odor of her favorite heliotrope floated into 
the hall, followed by its mistress, radiant in garnet silk and 
diamonds. Will had only time to whisper — ‘ ‘ I must be out 
this evening. I will slip away from the smoking-room. If 
any message comes for me, watch and keep it away from 
mamma and the rest. If I am missed, say I told you I was 
going” — he hesitated, then smiled as he added — “to the 
Grand Opera House ! ” 

The stately dinner was, if possible, less cheerful than the 
lunch had been. Mrs. Browne was plainly preoccupied ; 
Augustine looked bored, and every now and then her eye 
sought Juny’s with a meaning glance ; Will, wrapped in 
thought, ate mechanically ; and Juny felt the failure of her 
effort to be bright and cheerful, in response to Colonel Bay- 
lor’s loving talk. 

But all dinners end at last. Mrs. Browne rose and the 
girls followed her signal. Just as Will crossed to hold the 
door open for them, he said: “By the way, mamma, you 
said that Gus received a Colonel de la Plata ? ” 

“I did, Wilmot, my son,” Mrs. Browne replied serenely. 
“An elegant gentleman, of old family and great wealth. A 
very different person from this Mr. Lake ! ” 

“ Very different ! ” Gus added quickly. “He’s not one 
bit crimp ! Not even good form ! ” 

“Augustine ! ” reproved the mother. “Wilmot, you shall 
see for yourself, the very next time he calls.” 

“Yes; the very next time!” Gus repeated, stealing a 
meaning look at Juny. 

Will caught the look. He stared a moment at both girls 
before he answered quietly : 

“ But, mamma, are you sure he’ll call again ? ” 

Mrs. Browne halted, seeming ready to draw up in line of 
battle. But she changed her mind and led her forces off the 
field, to entrench in the drawing-room. 


J. 


9 6 


JUNY : OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 




CHAPTER XIII. 

LANDLORD AND TENANT. 

When Captain Wilmot Browne, as amateur detective, ex- 
amined Captain Hunter Beagle’s note and pronounced him 
not far off, he builded wiser than he knew. 

Not two minutes before he read that superscription, the 
detective had peered through closed blinds and seen Kyle 
Hardy drive off in his brougham. Hastily dashing off the 
address, he had crossed the street and pulled the bell of that 
worthy’s residence. 

The door opened in somewhat suspicious fashion. 
Through the narrow crack peered the wizened, sharp-beaked 
face of an old quadroon woman. But the parchment 
wrinkled still more, in recognition ; and a toothless smile 
parted the shriveled lips as she said, with strongly marked 
accent : 

“Ah! Eet ees you? Bo'jd, ml sieu ! Malheur of me! 
But m’sieu Arconolle, he just to drive himself away. Tie?is i 
madame will geefe to ’eerself ze plaisir of to receif yo’ vzsite, 
ees eet not ? ” 

She opened the door wider, but closed it jealously after 
admitting him ; and opened the door of a neat parlor. 

“ Tiezis, maman , quivalabas ?” called a soft, liquid voice, 
over the balusters, from above. The French had the strong 
Creole burr , as she continued: “5/7 est ml sieu mo 
cornea re ’ ’ 

“ Gal tu,p'tite Lili ! ” quickly interrupted the old quad- 
roon; then, changing to English, she added: “’Ere com* 
Mista’ Jonson, ’oo hown ’ouse ; weel mek leetle visite.” 


LANDLORD AND TENANT. <^~ 

“I will see him with much pleasure!” called down the 
voice, with strong accent but excellent English ; and, quick 
following it, the tall, lissome figure of a young woman tripped 
lightly down the stairs. She extended her hand to Beagle 
with pleased greeting : 

“ Entrez, monsieur. I am certainly charm to see you, I 
assure you truly. You see it is so triste here ; we know so 
few. Monsieur, my husband, is out en ville. He is at the 
Wall street ; he will be desole not having the pleasure of to 
see you, Monsieur Jonson ! ” 

Graciously and with pretty dignity, the girl — for she was 
scarcely more — motioned Beagle to a seat, before taking one 
herself. Tall above usual height, her figure was the per- 
fection of Southern symmetry ; lithe, but perfectly developed 
and tending to the sensuous, in its full, soft curves. If any 
fault, it was, perhaps, a waist a trifle small for the full bust 
and swelling contours below it ; but the hands and feet, 
small, taper and perfectly moulded, could not have been im- 
proved by the sculptor’s art. 

The face was as unmistakably Creole as the figure. The 
pale olive skin, clear and transparent as that of a blonde, 
showed the blue- veined tracery beneath ; and the long, dark 
eyes, fringed with long, curved lashes, seemed black in a 
steady regard. Full lipped redness parted over regular little 
teeth, and the soft oval of the face— rather long for its facial 
angle— toned the effect of a nose decidedly aquiline. 

So, even without hearing the liquid indolence of voice, a 
glance would have showed Lili Duvrai a native of Louisiana. 

But only the acute physiologist — who had closely exam- 
ined the roots of the filbert nails, and the iris of the long 
eyes — might have suspected that the bright blood, glowing 
in the peachy cheeks, was not untainted ; that the worst 
legacy of the slave system had set its heritage in the veins 
of the stately woman there ! 


7 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


9 S 

For the high lineage, elegance and culture of Philippe 
Duvrai had not protected him from the curse of custom, con- 
doned into unwritten law— custom that survived its exem- 
plars at the far South, somewhile after the besom of war had 
swept away slavery. It had also swept away Duvrai’s 
wealth and left him a wounded cripple, and all the fair future 
the young Octoroon mother had dreamed for her baby girl 
was set at naught by the irony of fate. When the father 
died— the last of his old race— but a small annuity was left 
for his child, and the promised Paris education was, per- 
force, abandoned for the simpler learning which she rapidly 
acquired. 

Fili was but a girl of fifteen— though a woman in the 
fullest development of that fostering climate — when Captain 
Kyle Hardy took rooms at her mother’s house in New 
Orleans. Impressionable, ignorant of the world’s ways, and 
with the hot blood of both races, unrestrained by precept or 
example, I^ili soon became the gambler’s very slave. For 
years she had adored him as few women, with better oppor- 
tunities for dangerous knowledge, adore legitimate husbands. 
When the chances of his reckless life went against him, at 
New Orleans, she followed him to San Francisco, thence to 
Havana and to Rio de Janeiro, whence they had come to 
New York. 

And where they went, the devoted old mother followed, 
too ; doing almost menial service and making herself almost 
indispensable to Hardy’s comfort, as the girl had become 
to his happiness. For the latter’s gentle devotion and win- 
ning nature had clung around the perverted heart of the 
adventurer, saving him from utter induration in vice and 
leaving a something human in him still. 

Yet, in all those six }^ears, for she was now twenty-one, 
the meek humility in her one drop of base blood had domi- 
nated the proud Creole strain in Lili’s veins. She had been 


LANDLORD AND TENANT. 


99 

satisfied to serve as liand-maiden the man she loved, dream- 
ing of no higher place now and, like all her race, not looking 
to the future. 

For, recklessness of consequences — equally with “ suf* 
france is the badge of all their tribe and this poor girl had 
been content — until just now — to serve her lord, even as 
Abra served the wisest of Israel’s kings ! 

But, of late, a cloud had risen over the horizon of Dili’s 
little world ; and, for the first time, her dream of secure 
possession was roughly broken by dread of a rival. 

Some of this dread had grown from her lover’s changed 
manner, his lengthened absences and his rough resentment 
when questioned. But more of it was confirmed by the 
strange sympathy and seemingly chance words of the de- 
tective, in his assumed character of Mr. Vanderpool John- 
stone, agent of the Goelet heirs, in which he became known 
to Kyle Hardy and his mistress. 

When Beagle first began his shadow, in the interest of 
Wilmot Browne, Hardy was occupying a gorgeous flat and 
spending money like a nabob. But very soon he “ struck a 
streak of nigger luck.” Cards and speculation took a down- 
hill run on him together, and he advertised for a small house 
in a quiet neighborhood. Beagle, knowing the St. Mark’s 
Place house to be vacant, offered it to Hardy in his role of 
agent at so low a price as to insure acceptance. Then he 
rushed to the real agent and paid double that amount to 
secure his doubly valuable neighbor. 

There is no solitude like that of a vast city. Nowhere 
can one hide so securely as in a great crowd. Shrewd as he 
was generally, Kyle Hardy never dreamed that “the fin- 
niking house-rat,” as he called Beagle to his women, was 
anything else ; and neither he nor L,ili had ever seen him 
enter or leave his own house. 


IOO 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


Calling at first on business, Mr. Johnstone had gradually 
become a social visitor ; but one who chanced to come when 
Hardy was absent, generally. And in her late loneliness and 
trouble those visits had grown welcome to the pretty Octo- 
roon, especially as “ Monsieur Jonson ” seemed to know 
gossip of that great world into which Hardy went so freely 
and — of course, alone. 

It was Beagle who had skillfully fanned the flame of Lili’s 
jealousy ; unknowing the nature through which it might 
rage a consuming conflagration. He had dropped vague 
hints of Gus and the Texington-avenue visits ; but he had 
received usurious return in details of Hardy’s later career, 
innocently related by the girl. 

For, though he did not understand society, Hunter Beagle 
seemingly understood women ; and he realized that the hot- 
blooded Octoroon’s wrath might let out many a secret denied 
even to tenderest sympathy. And his cunningly-put hints of 
Colonel de la Plata’s social success — often truly remarkable, 
even central in the gullible snobbery of New York — would 
bring the blood to her cheek and the hot talk to her 
tongue. 

“So, he looks high, this husband of mine!” she would 
exclaim. “ Mon dieu ! There were days in ’Freesco and in 
Rio when he was not so ex :igeant — when he was content with 
Tili ! ‘ A bas le sentiment ! ’ Why is it that woman may not 

tire of her love ? All men do ! ” 

Then Beagle would intimate — so delicately as not to shock 
her — that the man, worthy of her love, would never tire ; 
that there was love so deep and lasting as to be a revelation 
to her. And the girl, not comprehending, listened. But 
she never suspected that her visitor knew Hardy’s real his- 
tory or his alias. She played Madame de la Plata, in .sublime 
ignorance that her race and her shame were both known to 
Beagle. 


t 


LANDLORD AND TENANT. I0I 

On his part, the shrewd detective had long since pumped 
dry the girl’s really shallow sources of information ; for, she 
only knew that Hardy was a glittering adventurer ; and his 
career previous to meeting her, and his present connection 
with Tip Miles, Beagle had found were alike a sealed book 
to her. 

Still, he continued his visits, timing them in Hardy’s 
absence ; but he would surely have kicked himself ere he 
confessed to any personal interest in her. What ! Captain 
Hunter Beagle, the blooming rose of the detective bouquet, 
interested in a woman ! And that woman one of impure 
blood and of not pure life ! Perish the absurdity ! But, 
unconfessed, the man of hand-cuffs was himself captured, 
and the net he spread for Hardy was doubly meshed, with 
business and with — -jealousy ! 

And to the many visits, the present one proved stormy 
exception. 

For soon, Lili rose and paced the small parlor nervously ; 
reminding her visitor of a sleek she panther, by her sinuous, 
agile glide and the gleam her dark eyes, ever and again, 
shot into his. 

“ And so, my husband visits much among the hauls riches 
of this city, you tell me ! ” she cried, stopping before him, 
lacing and unlacing her slim fingers. 

“ And why not ?” he answered slowly ; watching keenly 
the effect of his words. “ The colonel is a handsome man 
and an elegant ; a great favorite with our belles. I have 
always seen him in the swellest boxes at the opera ; and no 
assembly on Murray Hill is complete without him ! Natu- 
rally, the quiet you prefer, in your life at home ” 

“ Indeed, then ! ” she broke in angrily. “Is it that the 
husband must leave the quiet, happy home, where the wife 
can not suffice to him for all ? Is it so that the societe of 
New York teaches itself? ” 


102 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


“I fear it is so,” Beagle answered slowly. “ Of course, 
many doors open to him, through which he could not carry 
you Mademoiselle ? ” 

He dropped the last word out, .slowly and after a brief 
pause, emphasizing it by no vocal stress. 

The girl stopped her restless walk ; standing staring an 
instant, ere she gasped : 

“ Mon dieu ! you know f ” 

“Yes; I know,” he answered earnestly. “Admiration, 
devotion sharpen our comprehension, Till ! I have grown 
too deeply interested in you not to learn that he is now 
abusing blessings as undeserved as they are ” 

She faced him, with flashing eyes : 

“ Stop ! You shall add not one word ! What he is to me 
— what am I to him — these things we have made for our- 
selves ! If the priest has not spoken the words of marriage, 
then have our two hearts spoken them ! In the sight of 
God, we are man and wife ! ” 

‘ ‘ Pardon me!” he began. ‘ ‘ But in this section the law ” 

“ What have we with youi law?” she broke in. “A bas 
your law here ! With us, in my home, the law of the heart 
is sometimes taken as the law of God ! Why does my 
husb he not deserve, as you say ? ” 

“ Because, having the power to betray your trust, he uses 
it ! ” the man answered. “ Because, fearing no law to pun- 
ish, he deceives you !” 

She stared at him a moment, silent. Then she dropped 
into a seat, her face in her hands. So, while the little mantel 
clock ticked out one full minute. Then she raised to him a 
face blanched and drawn, the lips bloodless, the eyes hag- 
gard. Suddenly, as he watched her, Hunter Beagle was 
struck with the evolution by pain of the hidden likeness of 
the beautiful youth to the puckered features of the old quad- 
roon mother. 


LANDLORD AND TENANT. 


103 

When she spoke, it was in a dull, hard voice : 

“ Had other man than you, Monsieur Jonson, spoken thus 
of him, I had order him from my door. But you long have 
been kind, gentle to me. Of all this great, bad city, it is 
but you whom I may call my friend ! I am sure of it, that 
your good heart would not permit you to torture mine like 
this, except for you know what you speak ! In all these six 
years I have been to him as wife, he to me as husband ! 
There was great reason ’’—she paused and turned away an 
instant— “ Pardon me that of this I may not speak ! But it 
was good reason wherefore we did not marry ! But always I 
have trust him so as have I trust the good God ! Now, 

what you say cuts to my heart, because because my 

heart tell me long time it is not impossible so ! But against 
you, Monsieur Tonson— yes, against my own heart — I must 
have proof! ’ * 

“You shall have it ! ” Beagle exclaimed, more naturally 
than he had spoken for years. ‘ ‘ I^ili, you shall have proof 
to-morrow ! ” 

“A domain /” she answered with a wan smile that did 
not conceal the pain behind it. ‘ ‘ To-morrow I shall expect 
you and — with proof !” 

“ And if I bring it,” the man said eagerly, “you will re- 
ward my friendship by letting me protect you from further 
wrong ? ’ ’ 

The strange smile deepened on the girl’s face, but the 
voice was only weary, not broken, in which she said : 

‘ ‘ I shall not need. With that proof in my heart I can 
protect myself ! ” 

The tough detective stood irresolute — abashed for the first 
time in his life, before the girl whose history he knew so 
well. 

Wearily, but very gently, she swept him a deep curtsey, 
as she said : 


104 JJJNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 

‘ ‘ I will now ask for your permission. I am not composed. 
I am ill by what you say. To-morrow you will bring me 

proof, and I will then 1 will trust you ! Au revoir , 

Monsieur Jo?iso?i ! ’ ’ 

Without one word Beagle passed from the house, crossed 
the street and entered his own. 

But a strange, new feeling was stirring about his heart. 


\ 


SOME DOMESTIC MA TTERS. 


105 


CHAPTER XIV. 

SOME DOMESTIC MATTERS. 

As Wilmot Browne saw Kyle Hardy put the pass-key in 
his lock, that householder had remarked to himself : 

“Well, damn this nigger luck ! It never turns ! ” 

Nor was this profane apostrophe to the blind goddess 
wholly without foundation. The gambler’s lines had not 
fallen in pleasant places of late, either at the card-table or 
at the tenderer game he was so intent upon. And now, his 
emphatic snub at the hands of the girl he had believed cer- 
tain prey to his killing manner and plausible lies, was liter- 
ally “a facer.” 

At the Orphic, he had braced his nerves on much brandy 
and, finding no note from Miles at the pawnbroker’s, had 
returned home in the worst of humors. 

In the hall, the quadroon woman answered his query for 
Tili shortly, that she was ill with a bad headache and would 
not be disturbed. To his next remark, about dinner, she 
answered even more shortly : 

‘ ‘ And weeth vot sail I buy ’eem ? You leefe no money to 
zee ’ouse. ’Ow will ze markeet geefe ze meet — ze pain ze 
butchaire, eh ? Mo ga ton moon ! I shame more to ask ze 
truss ? V'la ! Eez but tea an’ le pain een zees ’ouse ! ” 

“Tea and bread be damned !” Mr. Hardy replied, as illog- 
ical as he was discourteous. ‘ ‘ Do you take me for a cursed 
old woman ? ” 

The old quadroon’s eyes gleamed as she answered : 

“ Non ! Sairtainlee ! But one time me, I hav’ take you for 
one man! Present, ’ow I take you, eh?” 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


106 

“ What the devil do you mean ? ’’ he growled. “ I can’t 
give you money when I haven’t any, can I ? ” 

“Non ; I ’ave not ask ’im !” she answered. “ Mais , eef 
eez no meat, one sail eat not— no ? You much can leefe een 
ze cloobe. Me ; I not can eat zere ! ” 

“ Look here, Mother Duvrai,” the man answered roughly, 
“there’s no use mincing matters. I am damned tired of 
this growling ; and you women will have to give up style 
and live cheap, till luck turns ! ” 

“ Cheepe, eh? Ve sail leefe vidout de style ? Bon dieu ! 
It is ease to do zat ! Mais , dere are someting my chile can 
do not vidout ! She have been more as vife to you, so long 
time ! ” the woman answered, doggedly. “She been to you 

slave — ze soul so as ze body ! She sail have 

“ Stow your preaching ! “ Hardy growled back. “I’m in 
no humor for nonsense ! ’’ 

“ So ! Neither me, I am not ! ” the quadroon answered. 
“ But you do know, is it not? zat you can keel my chile by 
neglect her ! So ! Evere sence ve coome to New Yok — ere 
nom! I belief zat you wish to do ! ’’ 

Hardy looked at the woman with evil glare in his eyes ; his 
voice growing louder and more brutal as he said : 

“Curse your ugly tongue ! Ever since I let you tag round 
the world after me, you’ve tried to boss me ! You shall 
learn your place, once for all ! Next time you lecture me, 
I’ll kick you into the street, neck and crop ! I’ll have no 
more insolence from a damned old nigger ! ’’ 

As he had spoken, the face of the old quadroon 
changed more swiftly and more strongly than his own. 
Outraged pride burned in the sunken eyes ; and the thin 
lips writhed into a smile that Dore might have given one of 
the souls in his Frozen Hell. Herself the daughter of a Creole 
of ancient name, and a score of years the companion of the 
most noted man of his day, Frozine de la Salle held her 


SOME DOMESTIC MA TTERS. 


107 


lineage as proudly as though the church had blessed it. 
And, in all those years — until she had followed her daugh- 
ter, in her old age — never had hint of insult been given her 
by man, deeming himself gentleman. 

And now, as Hardy spoke rapid oaths, and even advanced 
with threatening hand raised in menace, the long, patient 
drudge transformed into the tigress. 

Swiftly the withered hand slipped into her bosom, and 
the long, sharp blade of a poignard gleamed in the dim hall- 
way. But, ere she could speak — even before the man could 
recoil — I^ili’s voice called to them from above. 

“Kyle Hardy, stop !” she cried in clear, resonant tones, 
rapidly descending as she spoke. “For six years I have 
been your mistress ; how true you know ! All those years 
Maman has been your best friend — your very slave ! in sick- 
ness and in health — rich or poor ! Now, you dare insult 
her ! Threaten her ! My mother, whose blood is in my 
veins ! You dare reproach her race ! What she is, I am ! 
When you have laid at my feet and begged my love ! Every 
time you have lied, in swearing to prize me as your wife ! 
Every caress in all these years —mon dieu /—all of them 
were given to — the negro ! Yesterday, the shame to say 
this would have killed me ! Now, my worst shame is, that 
I — negro as I am — could descend to be all that to you ! ” 

The latent fire in her hot Creole blood glowed as she 
spoke ; the clear voice vibrant with scorn, the lithe form 
drawn to full height ; the blaze in her eyes dropping his 
before them. Ere she finished she had reached her mother- 
crouching there as the wildcat crouches, guarding her young 
— and, passing the long, graceful arm about her, Lili drew 
the withered face close to her heaving breast. 

“Heed him not, Maman cherie !” she added, gently. 
“And put by that ugly knife. ’Tis needed not, for a coward, 
like this white man ! ” 


IQ g JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 

Kyle Hardy answered no word ; nor raised his eyes from 
the ground. Turning sullenly into the parlor, he slammed 
the door and slowly paced the floor ; the brutal gladiator 
light dying from his face, leaving it weak and childish in its 
irresolution. Natural violence of temper, inflamed by Orphic 
Club brandy, had combined, with brooding over his bad luck, 
to carry Hardy beyond all precedent brutality in his own 
home ; far beyond his own intent. Of late — since he began 
to believe that he really cared for Gus Browne, as well as for 
her money — he had been rather careless of Dili and some- 
times fretful in his mood. 

But such brutality as he had just shown her mother, he 
knew she never dreamed was hidden in his nature ; and no 
little shame was mingling with his wonder as to how he 
should carry it off with her. He had really loved the girl, 
as such men love, and the memory was not yet cold. But 
he was “in a streak of bad luck,” and, to the profes- 
sional gambler, there is no ill — foreign or domestic— which 
touches that. 

Absolutely out of money, with club debts, which left un- 
paid would ruin all chance for future fleecing of the Orphic, 
he had that day doubly discounted the proverb — biblical to 
his craft — “Eucky in love, unlucky at cards ! ” 

But the woman he imagined had awakened something 
better than the mere animal, in what passed with him for a 
heart, had spurned him from her door. The woman he 
had used as a plaything all these years — child of an inferior 
race as she was — had just scourged him still more fiercely 
under his own roof ! 

“Damnation ! Am I never to win at anything ? ” he mut- 
tered, striding about the floor. “Is that slut, Fortune, 
stocking the cards, that my short flushes can never fill ? But 
I may scoop one pot ; revenge on that cursed Baylor and his 
pretty nephew, before they get back from Europe ! When I 


SOME DOMESTIC MA TTERS. 


109 


get those vouchers from Tip Miles, I’ll hold the age on you, 
my haughty Augustine ! But, damnation ! I’ll starve before 
I can win, if this nigger luck lasts !* And these women ! 
What am I to do with Lili ? As for the old hell-cat, curse 
her ! she may starve if my successor with the* girl does 
not ’’ 

He paused ; and, with one of those sudden transitions the 
gambler’s mind often undergoes — without any thought or 
reason, almost mechanically — Kyle Hardy opened Lili’s 
pretty escritoire and wrote a few lines rapidly. Folding and 
sealing them, he cried, with a bitter laugh : 

“Ducky at cards, unlucky in love ! Damn! I ought to 
win, one way ! Well, this may get me another interview ; 
and then, if I lose, the fault is mine ; not hers ! ” 

He was still balancing the note in his hand, as he lounged 
back in the chair, when the door-gong sounded sharp through 
the still house. There were not many visitors ; and Hardy, 
not moving, muttered: “Johnstone, I suppose ! What a 
cursed flat that fellow is. By Jove ! Maybe I might work 
Dili off on him, when I ” 

The door opened and Dili stood looking yearningly at 
him ; a note in her hand. 

‘ ‘ It was a note for you, Kyle ” 

He broke in hastily, jumping to his feet : 

“ Has the messenger gone ? I want him to take this ! It 
is very important ! ” 

Without the least hesitancy, without one tremor of voice, 
the girl answered, taking the note : 

“ No ; I told him to wait. Is there any answer to the one 
he brought ? ” 

Hardy — as ignorant of any suspicion in her mind as of the 
messenger’s flight— yielded the note he had written, as he 
tore open the one from Miles, so refreshed by Browne and 
Mrs. Beagle. He read it with eager eyes : 


no 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


“ No ; this is all right. But send the other ! ” 

Still the woman lingered ; looking wistfully at him. Then 
she glided nearer, half-raising her hands to place them on 
his shoulder ; then restraining herself by a strong effort. 

“Kyle!” She spoke very softly; a half sob in the 
voice. “You did love me truly ? What you said to matnan 
just now was but anger, was it not? ” 

4 ‘ Oh ! yes ; that’s all right, ” he answered in a careless, 
absent way. ‘ ‘ Go and send my note at once, that’s a good 
girl. I’ll tell the old lady about the row.” Then, all for- 
getful of the yearning woman at his side, hoping against 
hope, longing against conviction — Kyle Hardy fastened his 
eyes upon Miles’ note, devouring it as he muttered : 

‘ ‘ To-night ! After six long years ! ” 

The quick ear of the woman caught the words, and her 
eyes instinctively fell to the superscription of the note she 
held. 

Then swiftly, noiselessly — unnoticed by the preoccupied 
man — I^ili glided from the room ; flew up stairs and locked 
the door of her own chamber. 

With fingers trembling so she scarce could tear it open, 
she dashed the envelope to the floor. With face blanching 
to a pallor ghastly and death-like, she read the words : 

“ Augustine ! ” 

“ If you trust man’s faith— man’s love, see me to-morrow. When 
I said you were the only woman I have loved in twenty years, it was 
God’s truth ! Send one line to the club and make happy 
“ Your wretched, but devoted 


“ Manuee.” 


A T TOMPKINS SQUARE. 


Ill 


CHAPTER XV. * 

AT TOMPKINS SQUARE. 

That particular valve of the lungs of New York, known 
as Tompkins Square, was rather a strange than an attractive 
spot after nightfall at the date of this story. Electricity had 
not, as yet, been harnessed for the drudgery of corporations ; 
and the gas jets, flickering in the night wind, made darkness 
quite visible beyond their immediate vicinage. 

Throngs of men, women and children lounged in the not 
inviting square or filled the pavements around it, eagerly 
taking in the air — fresh by comparison with that of the reek- 
ing tenements, satirizing the name of home ! 

Not the lowest class of metropolitan poor, by many de- 
grees, these were yet wanting enough in the comforts — even 
the necessaries of civilization — and their rooms were eagerly 
exchanged for any atmosphere less fetid. 

Under flare of smoking wide-awakes, numbers of the pet- 
tiest traders wrestled with their owners for the possession of 
hard-earned coppers, their sharp cries cutting through the 
murmurous talk of family groups, dulled by poverty and 
wearied by day’s labor. 

‘ ‘ Paynoot can-dee / Koh-kinoot can-dee ! One cint a- 
piece ! ” was the most strident among the vendors’ cries ; but 
High Art rose supreme over trade as the voice of the Leading 
Man of the Grand Opera House swelled upon the air : 

‘ ‘Gran’ comp\e-men- ferree mat-^-nay, ter-morrer night ! Ben- 
efit of Laurence Forrest Irving Barrett Macready Miggs, at 
the Gran’ Opery House ! Tick-^A?, honly ten cents ! ” 
shouted the ubiquitous Larry, flapping his card-boards under 


I T 2 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


the most unpromising of noses. “ Here’s yer tick-eis / Se- 
cure yer seats or git left ! Ten cents ! ” 

But energy was not largely repaid, and Harry at length 
pulled up at the candy-stand. 

“Say, Mother O’Shane, let’s trade ? ” he suggested cheer- 
ily. “ Ther combinashe ’ll gie ye a reserve seat on a soap- 
box, ef ye’ll set ’em up fur th’ whole cump’ny. Sa-ay ! Let’s 
sample ’em, jest fur a flyer !” And the tragedian grabbed a 
piece of candy and executed a break-down while he munched 
it. Then he struck an attitude and cried : “ ‘ The funeral 
baker’s meat did furnish a fourth of the marria g-ables!' 
Sa-ay ! That hardware’s boss! Better trade — eh ? ” 

“Oi’ll not thrade!” replied the dealer grimly. “An’ 
yez ’ll be afther payin’ me fur thot ca.n-dee / ’ ’ 

“Not thrade !” echoed Larry ; and in a Barrettesque pose 
he spouted: “‘Unsay them words, Lord Car-d e-null!' 
Yer kin embezzle, but I do love peanut candy ! ‘Love her? 
My Lord ! As rivers love tli’ sunlight ; bakin’ in their beans 
an’ hurryin’ on! ’ Oh ! I jest kin play Rcech-e r-loo, wid a 
song- an ’-dance ! Here’s yer tick-eis / Las’ pearrance of th’ 
Tompkins Square Gran’ Opery House Combevna-shun / ” 
And across the square rushed Larry, shouting his Art 
Evolution for protoplasmic results. There he met a comrade 
dolefully swinging his blacking-box. Larry seized and ex- 
amined it eagerly. 

“Hello, Pete! Any shekels?” he asked. “Wot! 
’Nary red? ‘To thy knees an’ crawl fur pudden ! 9 Sa-ay! 
This j^ere benefit’s goin’ ter be a reg’lar frost ! Yer kin 
gamble, we’d better lay fur a .shine, ’case any soft passes this 
way ! Meanwile, I kin jest have a rehearsal of my song in 
Reech-c r-loo. Yer kin copyrite, ef ther ain’t ben nine con- 
junctions already on that ’ere song in th’ Deestric’ Court ! ” 
Divesting himself of his jacket, the coming young trage- 
dian sang, with much humor, this song : 


A T TOMPKINS SQUARE. 


113 

I’m a youth of fair family, fortune and face, 

With not too much brains to my share ; 

I’ve enough cheek and money to keep up the pace, 

But I never repeat w hat I hear ! 

I’ve had my flirtations with girls, now and then ; 

With two married beauties, or so ; 

And the things they all do — just to lead on the men — 

Are — none of my business, ye’ know ! 

There’s a lovely grass widow, with eyes like a saint, 

Whose rivals are all in despair ! 

They say she is built up of pads and of paint 
And, at night, sheds her teeth and her hair ! 

And young Mrs. Brown, th’ old drummer’s young wife. 

Has five, or six, solid old beaux ; 

Bach ready to give up his dollars, or life — 

For a — it’s none of my business, ye’ know ! 

There’s little Miss Timmins, whose papa went through 
Bankruptcy proceedings this year ; 

Her diamonds and phaeton are equaled by few ; 

But / never repeat what I hear ! 

If sweet Mrs. B., who is six months a bride, 

Sups nightly, chez Delmonico ; 

After doing the park, in a tete-a-tete ride, 

It’s — none of my business, ye’ know ! 

“ Never min’ th’ cincor, Pete!” the singer broke in. 
“ Shoot the ’plause ; I’ll g’long ’thout it : ” 

There’s one old boy in town, with a nose jolly red, 

Who don’t own a tooth nor a hair ; 

Who goes to the ballet, instead of to bed, 

While the wife of his bosom snores there / 

His notes and his flowers astray must be sent— 

Tike his smiles from the very front row ! 

And no fellow knows how much cash he has spent 
On — It’s none of my business, ye’ know ! 

“ Gimme de box, Pete ! Quick ! ” yelled Barry, suddenly 
breaking off. “Yonder comes a soft! £ I’ve sot my life 
8 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


1 14 

upon a cast, an’ I will stan’ tli’ hazzard, ef I die ! ’ Stag me 
wile I work ’im ! ” And, swinging the box, Larry rushed 
toward the stranger, yelling : ‘ ‘ Shine ! Patent leather 

shine ! ’ ’ 

Suddenly he halted, turned silently and returned to the 
other boy in deep disgust. 

“ Well! Wot’s hup ? ” asked Pete. 

‘ ‘ Look wot the thing’s got on ! Patent leathers ! ” Mr. 
Miggs answered in supreme contempt. 

“Sa-ay, Larry!” Thus Pete, in a tone of deep convic- 
tion — ‘ ‘ Sa-ay ! Patent leathers is low ! ” 

Kyle Hardy, in his patent leathers, strode slowly on ; his 
mood, judging from scowling brows, anything but a frolic 
one. He paused under a sickly lamp and looked at his 
watch. 

“Curse the watch! Stopped,” he muttered. “ Every- 
thing goes wrong ! Nigger luck all through ! Wonder if 
that’s an omen of bad luck with Tip?” He showed his 
teeth in his unmirthful smile ; but drew Miles’ brief note 
from his pocket and reread it carefully. With somewhat 
lightened brow, he lit a cigar and slowly crossed to the little 
street, where that honest tradesman, Herr Isaac Schonstein, 
threw out the banner of the Lombards. 

As he did so, Pete wildly seized his box from Larry and 
rushed for a man, in evening dress and light ulster, who 
slowly followed the gambler out of the shadow. As Pete 
did so, Larry recognized his acquaintance of the afternoon. 

“ Hello ! Kurn’l ! ” he yelled. “ Wot are you after roun’ 
here? Come fur me f” But, as Wilmot Browne made a 
quick sign for silence, he added, lower : <l Ke- rect, Kurn’l ! 
I’m muzzled ! ” 

“I don’t want you yet,” Will said, “but I may, soon. I 
suppose I can trust you to keep your eyes open and your 
mouth shut ? ” 


A T TOMPKINS SQ CARE. ! ! 5 

‘'That’s me! Yer just kin /” Larry replied. “I’m a 
oyster, I am ; wen ther’s a doller in it ! ” 

“Keep about here, then.’’ Will hesitated, as he turned 
away ; then asked : “Larry, have you seen th’ old ’un?” 

“ Nary old ’un, sence I brung th’ note,” Larry responded. 
“ ’Spectin’ him f ” 

“Yes ; rather. If he should pass, and ask any questions, 
you say I went round that corner.” 

Then — after another careful and anxious scrutiny of the 
square for Beagle, whose missing presence he could not com- 
prehend — Will walked into the narrow street and stood in 
the shadow opposite the pawn-shop. 

The street was almost empty, only an occasional rapid 
passer showing. Honest avocations had put up their shut- 
ters long since, the only light on the block gleaming through 
the variegated assortment of belongings in Mr. Schonstein’s 
window. 

But the minutes passed relentlessly, and Will looked fre- 
quently at his watch. A dozen theories of Beagle’s absence 
offered themselves. Had he unaccountably missed the place ? 
Was Hardy’s presence at the pawn-shop, twice that day, on 
other matters? Had he now gone to meet Jackpots at some 
other tryst where Beagle was ? 

More nervous, as the minutes dragged with leaden sloth, 
Will heard nine chimes from a distant steeple ; and, almost 
ere the echo died, a short man ambled around the corner, 
shuffled near the shop, then hesitated and turned back. Even 
distance and dim light left him sure of his man ; but his 
movement puzzled the amateur detective, and he stealthily 
followed the retreating form. 

It was Tip Miles, and his flank movement was only pru- 
dential. As he had before remarked to himself, his game was 
a desperate one, and he had no idea of losing one point possi- 
ble to score. When Hardy’s brougham dashed by him that 


ii6 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


morning, Miles had not seen his old pal’s face since it low- 
ered at him across the Shiner’s Gap ; but he retained vivid 
recollection of his ugly temper and prompt handiness with 
knife or pistol. 

Passing the square, he had seen Larry on guard, and now 
he shuffled back and hailed him cheerily : ‘ 1 Hello, young- 

ster ! So, this is your beat ? No performance to-night ? ” 

“Kerect, guv’ner ! Closed fur the ben . to-morrer night. 
Gran’ Reech-er -loo mat t-nay ! But I tuk yer note all th’ 
same ! ” 

“And delivered it, O. K. ?” 

“Yer kin speckerlate ! Gin it inter his own han’ at St. 
Mark’s Place,” the Leading Man replied. 

Miles looked keenly at the boy ; but his uncertain-aged face 
was expressionless as a Chinese. 

“Ever seen him before? ” he asked quickly. 

“ Never ! ” the boy replied with equal promptness. 1 1 Seen 
him sence, tho’ ! He lit a she- root an’ yer kin emergrate but 
he mosied roun’ that corner, quart- a-hour ago ! ” 

“ So ; the Coyote’s on hand ! Well, he’s keen, after those 
papers. Have ’em he must; and so he shall — after he has 
paid six years’ storage on ’em ! But a cool hand and slip- 
pery is Kyle Hardy. ! ” So saying to himself, Miles passed 
the corner — hesitated — turned back and stopped under a 
lamp. “Yes ; if any deal does lose me the age, this will 
double my chances, halve the Coyote’s and save old Baylor’s 
jackpot ! ” 

Taking some papers from his pocket, he selected a circular 
in blank envelope, writing hastily on the unprinted sheet. 
Sealing it, he directed the envelope to Wilmot Browne ; and 
that volunteer detective saw him pass back toward the 
boys in the deep shadow. 

Not daring to be seen himself, Browne strained his eyes on 
the lamp beyond them. Miles did not pass it. He had 


A T TOMPKINS SQUARE. 


117 

stopped in the shadow and said briefly : “ Tarry, would you 
like to make two dollars ? ” 

Jedge ! That's me, yer may gamble ! Wot must I do ? » 
And Master Miggs jumped from his box briskly. 

Nothing ! ” Miles answered. 

“I kin do that ! It’s m’ perfesh. Were mus’ I go f ” 

“ Nowhere ! ” again responded the snuffy Sphinx. 

‘ ‘ That suits hegzact — Hi lives there ! ” 

“ I think you’re sharp and honest ,” Miles said quietly. 

‘‘I saved your life this morning; now you hold on to this 
letter like wax, until I come back ! If ten o’clock strikes 
and I am not here, take that letter to the house where you 
followed me to-day. Ask for Captain Wilmot Browne, and 
he'll not grudge you a fiver ! ” 

“Yer may crystallise!” cried Tarry. ‘ ‘ St-st-t ! Here, 
Pete ! ” And as the other boy approached, he dropped the 
letter in the boot-box, seized him by the shoulders and 
jammed him down upon it. 

“ What in thunder are you doing ? ” cried Miles. 

“ That’s all reg’lar, guv’ner ! ” the boy answered. “ Hit’s 
my post-offis an’ Pete’s my preserdenshurl pos’master ; Oh ! 
he'll stick, yer may propose ! He’s a reg’lar settin’ hen, tell 
he hatches out that fiver ! ” 

“ Well, keep her safe ; the letter’s important,” Miles said. 

To which Mr. Miggs deigned only the confident reply : 

“ Yer may bet yer boots ! ” 

A moment later Will Browne slunk again into the shadow ; 
for he saw Tip Miles reappear in the lamp-light, pass briskly 
toward the pawn-shop and enter, after a cautious glance up 
and down the street. But he did not see the grim smile 
upon the not handsome features of that eccentric personage ; 
nor could he hear the low muttered words : 

‘ 1 Now , Tip Miles, you hold a sequence-flush ! Better let 
him do all the raisin’ ! One more deal, and, by the ’Tarnal 
Jackpot ! 5^ou’ll rake Kyle Hardy’s pile ! ” 


n8 


TUNY: OR ONL Y ONE GIRL'S STOR Y. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

GREEK MEETS GREEK. 

“ Good evening, Mr. Schonstein,” Miles said, in his old- 
time manner, as he entered the pawn-shop. 

“ Gootefening, Meester Miltes,” returned the pawnbroker, 
with a grim smile. ‘ ‘ Dere vos ein shent shoost agzing off 
you. He vos een der barlor now.” N 

“Asking for me? Dear me ! I may know the gent, but 

I don’t quite remember ! ” And, with another keen 

glance at the empty street, Miles slipped round the screen at 
the rear of the store and entered the door it hid, finding 
himself in the dingy, stuffy “parlor.” 

As he did so, the Herr Schonstein began to put up his 
shutters and close the shop. 

Will Browne slipped to the corner and gazed anxiously 
around. What could have chanced to detain Beagle, he won- 
dered. He had run the foxes to hole, alone and unassisted. 
Indeed, he had given the detective valuable, positive infor- 
mation, yet it was long past the hour, and his hands were 
tied. Even could he enter the house, force was not to be 
thought of; he had no proof, and even with it, he could 
make no arrest. 

Fevered with doubt and regret, he strode up to the pawn- 
broker, saying as calmly as he could : 

“You keep open late, my friend.” 

The man locked a shutter, answering but one word : 
“Nein ! ” 

“I’ve a little business,” Will said desperately. “My 
watch ” 


GREEK MEETS GREEK. 


19 


“Nein / ” again came shortly, and the last shutter snapped. 

“ I’ll pay well ! Make out a ticket for only five ” 

“Nein/” Mr. Schonsteiu slipped inside his door and 
locked it in the face of business ! 

Then, with commendable prudence, he turned out the gas, 
opened a small back door and, slipping noiselessly into the 
grimy alleyway, applied both ear and eye to the shutter of 
the little back room. 

Kyle Hardy was striding up and down as Miles entered, 
and only saw him as he turned. Then he advanced with 
extended hand, but face that belied the gesture, as he ex- 
claimed : 

“Well, Tip, I’m glad to see you! You’re looking 
well ! ” 

“Am I? That’s a comfort,” responded Mr. Miles, pre- 
sumably not seeing the extended hand he did not take. 

“And where have you been hiding all these years? ” the 
other asked, determined not to be rebuffed. 

“/ haven’t been hiding,” Miles answered dryly. “I 
haven’t any alias , and I’m still an American ! ” 

“Well, what have you been doing? ’’ Hardy persisted. 

“The respectable ! I’ve turned over a new leaf. I’ll be 
damned if I haven’t, and I’d a chance to be damned if I 
didn’t ! ” 

“That’s clever ! ” Hardy said, as he sat down. 

“Is it? That’s cheering. Yes, in future I shall stop 
chipping in for small rascalities and lay for the big Jackpot 
of shabby-genteel respectability ! ” 

‘ ‘ But what’s your game ? ” 

“Business; I’m in charge of a farm!” Miles replied. 
“ Don’t stare; they don’t raise the ante on it — nor anything 
else just now. But say, Kyle, you don’t pay for all those 
personals and send me your new names and addresses only 
to inquire after my health ? ” 


120 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


“Well, 110!” Hardy answered, staring keenly at him. 

‘ 4 But it does seem to me that your memory has wonderfully 
improved ! ” 

‘ ' Oh ! yes ; I remember some things very well now ! ” 
And Old Jackpots sat opposite his former pal, never taking 
his eyes from his face. 

“Well, Tip, I hope you brought those papers,” Hardy 
said. 

4 ‘ Why should I ? ” Miles queried innocently. 

4 4 Because,” the other replied shortly ; 4 4 they belong to me ! ” 

4 4 Hardly ! ” Miles said, still very quietly. 4 4 They belong 
to the first police officer who can get his claws on ’em !” 

“ You’d dare to sell them! ” Hardy half rose in his anger. 

‘ 4 Certainly ; but you have — the refusal ! ’ ’ Miles answered. 
“ Didn’t I write so ? I don’t quite — remember! ” 

4 ‘ Stow that ! Shell the papers out, then ! ” Hardy growled. 

“ I haven’t got ’em about me !’’ 

“ I believe you lie ! ” Hardy again started to his feet. 

“Frequently; but not this time,” Miles responded. “I 
know their value to you, Kyle, and I wouldn’t trust myself 
with ’em in the streets, at night ! ” 

“Tip Miles! If you try to play it on me ” the 

other began fiercely ; and his hand went to his breast. 

“ Never mind your knife, Kyle,” the older man interrupted 
coolly, 44 I know your handy style with it ; but, if I am not 
safe and sound, an hour hence, those papers will be safe 
with ” 

‘ ‘ Well ? ” Hardy interrupted, dropping his hand. 

“With an old friend of yours, Kyle— Colonel Randolph 
Baylor ! ” 

“ You idiot ! To take me for one ! ” Hardy replied. 44 The 
man’s in Europe, this year past ! ” 

“No, Kyle, it’s you that’s abroad— all abroad! Baylor 
and his nephew arrived home this morning.” 


GREEK MEETS GREEK. 


121 


“ This morning ! ” Hardy echoed, in genuine surprise. 

‘ Yes ; only a few hours before Colonel de la Plata called 
on his beautiful niece ! ” Miles answered slowly. 

“ Damn you ! You know ” 

“Not much, Kyle,” the other interrupted. “But I do 
know I’m devilish hard up ! ” 

The other man, striding about the small room, stopped 
abruptly and faced Miles : “ Well, what will you take ? ” 

“ What will you give ? ” 

“ Will five hundred do ? ” 

“ A thousand will do better ! ” 

“ You have a conscience ! ” 

“ Then you should, also. You told me those papers were 
worth ten thousand, at Washington ; and, strange to say, 1 
quite remember ! ” 

“ Well ; you shall have the money ! ” 

“ I thought I should ! ” 

Again Kyle Hardy stopped short before him. 

.“Tip Miles ! ” he said brutally. “Don’t you go too far. 
It’s a new game for you to play me for a flat ! And if I do 
lose my temper ” 

“You’ll lose your revenge on Baylor, />/?«• ten thousand 
dollars,” Miles finished for him. “ Yes ; this morning Bay- 
lor returned ; and his daughter ” 

“ His daughter ! ” Hardy stopped, staring blankly. 

“ Yes ; the wild gal that tricked us in the Shiners’ Gap,” 
Miles said, watching the other’s face. “You know he 
adopted her ? ” 

“Oh ! ” The gambler drew a deep, long breath. “ I was 
thinking of that other ; the kid he sent from New Orleans, 
on the steamer ! The very idea was a freezer ! ” 

He resumed his restless walk ; Miles answering no word, 
but following him with sharp eyes. At last Hardy stopped 
at the table once more. 


122 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


“You know, Tip,” he said, with a shiver, and an odd 
gleam in his eyes — “sometimes I think I’m getting shaky ! 
Damned if I ain’t beginning to have — nerves ! ” 

He paused ; looked strangely at his companion ; and, 
drawing a small flask from his pocket, added : 

“ Have a drop of brandy ? It’s good; Orphic Club ! ” 

‘ ‘ Don’t care if I do ! Only a drop, though ; to clinch our 
trade,” Miles answered, reaching for a small glass on the 
table. 

“ No ; not that one ! ” Hardy said quickly. “ I used that 
while I waited for you.” 

There was a small quantity of liquor in the bottom of the 
glass. Hardy drew it toward him ; reaching another from 
the small stand near. Then he poured a liberal quantity in 
each glass ; and, returning the stopper of the flask, dropped 
it to the floor. 

“Curse my awkwardness,” he grumbled, with his head 
under the table. “ Hold the light, Tip ! ” 

Miles held the lamp down near the floor ; both men looking 
for the cork. But Hardy’s left hand, resting above the table, 
deftly shifted the glasses on it. As both rose, and he 
adjusted the recovered cork, Hardy said : 

“Well, Tip, here’s luck to you and your reformation, and 
to the papers, when I get them ! ” 

“When you get them!” Miles echoed; and, as Hardy 
drained his glass, he also swallowed part of his. “Well, if 
that’s Orphic Club brandy,” he added, “ I don’t think I like 
good liquor ! Pah! -It’s bitter as Kirschwasser ! ” 

“It has a peculiar zip,” Hardy answered, with an odd 
smile. “ But you never were much of a drinker, Tip.” 
“Not much,” Miles said carelessly. “But I was telling 

you about Baylor’s daughter ” 

“Damnation! Stow that word, can’t you!” cried the 
other with white face. “ She’s not his daughter! I tell you, 


GREEK MEETS GREEK . 


I2 3 


it s making me nervous, though we know she can not turn up 
in this world ! Curse me, Tip, if I don’t see that young 
un s eyes often, lately ! There ! I see them over your 
shoulder now ! ” 

Miles kept his eyes riveted on the other man’s, but he 
answered simply : 

Why, I don’t see how you can let that worry you, Kyle ! ” 
“ Nor I, either,” Hardy replied uneasily. “But it does! 
It’s nerves , I tell you 1 I’ve had nigger luck and a tough 
racket. Brandy’s the only thing that helps me, Tip. That 
night, when I floated on a spar five hours, to save the kid 
drowning in the gulf; when I nearly lost my own life for 
hers, I never meant to do what I did! No! No/ Not 
that ! ” And the man shuddered. 

The hand around Tip Miles’ glass closed on it almost 
hard enough to smash it ; and the eyes, still riveted on the 
restless-moving gambler, gleamed strangely from under 
their red lids. But the voice was quiet — almost his old 
drawl — that said : 

“ That’s an odd story about saving a kid ! You kind o’ 
mentioned it long ago — if I remember f ” 

4 4 Curse it ! I do ! ” Hardy cried, pouring more brandy and 
swallowing it greedily. “I couldnt help saving it! Her 
baby, with May Redfern’s own eyes ! And, Tip, I kept the 
kid for over a year ! But bad luck came, and — Hell’s blazes ! 
What could a river gambler, knocking from pillar to post, do 
with a gal baby ? ” He drew closer to Miles, his eyes blood- 
shot and his breath labored, as he whispered hoarsely : 

“ But, as I hope to escape torment! I never did mean that! ” 
Was it confirmation of his own hidden suspicion, that 
made Tip Miles’ brain suddenly reel and grow light? For 
it was only by a mighty effort of will, that he could sit in 
his chair ; and for a moment, he only saw Hardy dimly and 
heard his voice, as through the boom of the surf. 


3 24 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


But he recovered, as Hardy said : “ But curse the past ! 
while there’s a future. If old Baylor’s back, so much 
more reason to rush the Washington racket. When will 
I get the papers ? ” 

“To-morrow, at two o’clock,” Miles answered; and in 
spite of every effort, he yawned wearily as he spoke : ‘ ‘ Meet 
me then at the old red farm-house, Browne Beach, on the 
Sound.” 

‘ ‘ Why there ? ” Hardy cried angrily. ‘ ‘ Curse you ! The 
papers are mine ! ” 

“ They will be, when you come,” Miles answered, in a 
weary tone. “They are hidden there!” and again he 
yawned. 

Hardy stopped ; looked steadily at Miles ; then answered 
more quietly : 

“All right, Tip; we won’t quarrel after all these years. 
I’ll be on hand.” 

“Certainly, we won’t,” Miles said, rather unsteadily; as 
if with strong effort. “And in proof of good faith, here’s 
the key of the old farm-house. Bring it with you to-mor- 
row. Trains every half hour — station Long ” 

Hardy took the key ; again looking keenly at Miles, 
whose heavy eyelids drooped as he spoke. 

‘ ‘ All right, Tip ! ” he repeated, with his peculiar, hard 
smile. “ But now, I must leave you. I’ve got a soft thing 
at the Orphic. Good night, Tip ; I’ll be at the Beach to- 
morrow ” — and as he closed the door behind him, he added 
— “ before you are , too, you idiot ! ” • 

Miles sat perfectly still ; his hands upon the table, his 
brain a blank — for quite a minute. Then, with mighty ef- 
fort, he shook off the drowsy oppression ; rising unsteadily 
to his feet. 

“ A bad egg, the Coyote ! ” he muttered. “ But he can’t 
make a progressive Jack, on my deal ! The cold-blooded 


GREEK MEETS GREEK. 


125 


devil ! ” And his weariness left him a moment, as he spoke 

— “to save that babe ; and then to Well ! All will be 

squared to-morrow ! bemme see ! The papers are his ; 
that's forgery ! His key to the farm-house is false ; that's 
burglary ! If taken with the papers on him, that's proof ! " 

As he spoke, the dizzy feeling returned ; and Miles, grasp- 
ing the *able, sunk slowly back into his chair, muttering : 

“ Will Browne won’t get despatch after all. I’ll go 

and tell Larry ” 

His arms stretched out on the table ; his head fell heavily 
upon them ; and the Yankee clock upon the mantel struck — 
ten ! 

At the moment Kyle Hardy peered into the door ; lis- 
tened an instant to the other’s heavy, regular breathing ; 
then, with scant ceremony, examined his pockets, replacing 
carefully the worthless papers found there. Then, he again 
passed swiftly from the room, as he said : 

“ Curse him ! For once, he was not lying ! I might have 
saved my chloral ! ” 



126 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

A society object eesson. 

The Texington-avenue mansion was, as usual, ablaze with 
light ; but, somehow, its occupants seemed less brilliant than 
their surroundings. 

Mrs. Beverly Baylor Browne, having drawn off her forces 
from Will’s attack in the dining-room, had marshalled them 
in the drawing-room, and now she proceeded with instruction 
in social tactics, which did not fall on all-attentive ears. 

Juny, the Roman mother felt, needed a long course and a 
strong in society conventionality. She had natural style, 
Mrs. Browne knew, and that morning had convinced her 
that it was backed by clear common sense. But the conve- 
nances were that lady’s creed, and these the ruthless natural- 
ness of her adopted niece smashed on every possible occasion. 

“And you must comprehend, my dear Juniata,” she was 
saying, in conclusion of a long lecture on the absolute 
necessity of etiquette, ‘ ‘ that without observance of conven- 
tional rules, there could be no common ground on which 
nice people could at once fix their social relations to each 
other.” 

“And am I to understand, aunt,” Jun}^ said, waking from 
innate courtesy out of her reverie on far different matters, 
“that to be a social success I must forget nature entirely ? ” 

“ Not exactly,” Mrs. Browne answered placidly. “ To a 
certain extent, Nature is a very good thing in her way. But, 
for social success, Nature must ever be guarded and con- 
trolled by society custom. Orson, my dear, may have been 
a most estimable person, yet one would prefer having Valen- 
tine to dinner ! ” 


\ 


A SOCIETY OBJECT LESSON. 12 y 

“ Well, you are right, doubtless, ” Juny answered wearily. 

“ Of course, Aunt Browne, I know nothing of these matters. 
How should I ? But it does seem to me, that if you polish 
away all naturalness, people might as well be only puppets. 
Art is a very good thing ; but then, may not one have a little 
too much art ? ” 

Mrs. Browne fanned herself with what Alexander Smith 
calls “ arm-sweep superb,” as she answered : 

“Your views are eminently unconventional, my dear - 
Juniata ! Ere long, you w r ill learn that our entire social 
system is based on art.” 

“ Of course it is ! ” Gus broke in. “That’s why I always 
tell ma she should dote on M. A ! ” 

‘ ‘ Augustine ! Why will you not oblige me and call that 
person Mr. Lake ? It is certainly as short, and immeasurably 
more respectable ! But his art is no higher than that of the 
dry-goods person who sells your costume, or of the modiste 
who makes it. Now, there is Colonel de la Plata ” 

“You admire his art, mamma?” Gus asked quickly, 
shooting a glance at Juny. ‘ ‘ You think him awfully crimp, 
don’t you ? ” 

“ His is the art social. He understands the conventions,” 
Mrs. Browne replied. 

The two girls again exchanged glances. 

“And he is a social success, is he not? ” Juny asked. 

“Emphatically,” the social leader answered. “Society 
should only be too grateful for such accessions ! ” 

“ Does society know anything of his antecedents? the 
girl rejoined, her naturalness defiant. 

‘ 1 I presume so, my dear. It is understood that he has 
great wealth and old family. Naturally, with his style, . he 
has credentials. But, society can not afford to be suspicious 
when persons are plainly eligible ! ” 


I2 S JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 

“Well, I don’t like him,” Juny said bluntly. “ And I am 
suspicious ! ” 

“So am I!” Gus exclaimed. “He’s not one bit 
crimp ! ” 

Here was open mutiny — absolute defiance of the society 
tactics in which this veteran campaigner had been carefully 
drilling them for an hour ! So, as court-martial was not 
practicable remedy at that moment, Mrs. Browne took the 
alternative of retreat behind her barricades. 

“These are impulses,” she said grandly. “They are the 
results of ignorance ; of false pride in defying convention. 
I can not listen to such absurdities, Augustine ! And you, 
Juniata, are wrong — entirely wrong ! No ! Do not answer 
me, either of you, until you learn to reason ! ” 

Checked, but undefeated, Mrs. Browne swept her colors 
off the field, with drums beating ; Gus lolling in a rocking 
chair, while Juny moved restlessly about the room. But 
soon the door bell rang, and shortly Wash announced : 

“ Miss Gustine, a leddy axe ter see yo’ berry per’ tickler. 
She say it’ mighty ’portant, sho’s yo’ born ! ” 

“ Me ? ” Gus answered. “ It must be mamma, unless her 
card ” 

But before she could finish, the tall, graceful figure of 
Dili Duvrai, clad in deep black, swept by the negro and 
stood erect in the center of the room. 

“No, Miss Browne — if you be Miss Augustine Browne,” 
she said, looking from one girl to the other. “ It is you 
I desire to see. Pardon of a stranger intrusion ; but my 
object will excuse, if you will but hear me ! ” 

She threw back the long veil, showing her beautiful olive 
face, deadly pale ; the luminous brown eyes downcast and 
ringed with deep, black circles. Yet the gentle grace of the 
woman would have drawn the others to her, the sadness of 
face and pose making her even more resistless. 


A SOCIETY OBJECT LESSON. 


1-9 


“ Pray have a seat,” Gus said graciously. “And pardon 
me, I am ignorant who ” 

“Yes, I know. You have never heard my name,” I^ili 
answered, with a deep sigh. “And you never will, after to- 
night. Not two hours it is that your name was equally 
unknown to me ; but now I come — if you will bear with me 
— if you will be patient — to do you great service ! ” 

“It is very strange ! I don’t know if I should ” Gus 

began ; but as a bright flush rose to I^ili’s face, she checked 
herself and added : “ Yes ; I will listen. You can do me no 
harm ; and you are evidently — a lady ! Pray be seated.” 

The olive face was swept by a flood of crimson, as the 
Octoroon caught the title ; but she turned it aside and, not 
taking the indicated chair, answered gently : 

4 4 1 shall be brief as possible ; and shall strive not to wound 
you, Miss Browne. May I ask, do you know Colonel Manuel 
de la Plata ? ” 

Both girls started, exchanging meaning looks ; and Gus 
reddened to the roots of her hair. But she answered 
quietly : 

44 1 did know Colonel de la Plata.” 

“Again you must pardon me,” Lili said, with slight hesi- 
tance. “And, with your parents’ knowledge and consent, 
he came — here ? ’ ’ 

“ Your questions certainly are strange,” Gus replied, with 
quiet dignity. ‘ 4 1 might properly decline to be catechised 

by a perfect stranger ” But Juny— standing intent, with 

lips half parted— made her an imploring gesture ; and she 
added : “ Still, as you seem to know something of this per- 
son, I may inform you that he did visit this house, but will 
do so no more ! ” 

“Are you sure?” Tili’s voice trembled. “Ah! Mademoi- 
selle, you are young, gentle, pure ! You can not know 
woman’s heart, when tried ! You do not know this man ! 

9 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


I 3 0 

“You are right; I do not know him, now! Therefore, 
further confidence is needless, ” Gus answered frigidly. But, 
beneath the ice, feminine curiosity gnawed her with sharpest 
incisors, to know who and what was this beautiful inquisi- 
tor ; who might have been her rival. 

“Yet has he dared speak to you words which were insult 
for you to hear ! Words which he had no right to speak ! ” 
Fili went on — quietly at first, but with anger and emotion 
rising as she spoke. ‘ ‘ This man — unfit to touch the latchet 
of your shoe ! Unfit to breathe air the same that you breathe 
— he has dared to deceive us both ! ” 

“ I can not permit ” Gus began haughtily. 

But again, Juny — with wide eyes fastened on Lili’s face — 
raised her hand, exclaiming, between warning and entreaty : 

“Gus! You must !” 

“ Yes ; you must , poor child! ” Ifili said, in low, musical 
tone, from which anger had died — “ For child you are to 
me, though your years may not be less. What I say pains 
me — not you ! ” 

“Then, who are you ? ” Gus asked shortly. 

“ Ivili Duvrai — Hardy ! ” the Octoroon replied slowly. 

“Then, what right have you to intrude here ” 

“Oh ! Gus! She has the right ! ” Juny cried, with glow- 
ing cheeks and pity in her voice. For when the girl had 
spoken Hardy’s name, after her own, it fell on Juny as a 
revelation. 

“ I have the highest right ! ” I^ili went on, with pathetic 
humility. ‘ ‘ The right of a woman, who could not save her- 
self, to save her blind sister ! ” 

“Stop, if you please ! ” Gus was her mother’s daughter 
now. ‘ ‘ Your views may be honest ; they certainly are wholly 
unconventional! I am not in need of missionary work, 
thank you ! And as for supposing me a possible rival with 
Colonel de la Plata ” 


A SOCIETY OBJECT LESSON. 


131 

“I do not so think,” Lili interrupted gently. “The man 

you mean is nothing to me! But, child, there is no 

Colonel de la Plata. That is but the alias of Kyle Hardy, a 
gambler and adventurer ! ” 

“ And your name ! ” Juny exclaimed. “You are his ” 

“ I have been to him more than most wives ! ” Lili broke 
in quickly, but turning away her face. “ Six years ago he 
took me from my home ; an innocent child, trusting and lov- 
ing. In the years since, he has been my world — my all ! 
In health or illness ; this land or that ; poverty or wealth, 
all was same to me, while I dreamed he loved me ! Lately, 
I felt he tired of me. I would not confess — I struggled so 
against it ! Maman warned me in vain ! But now — I knoiv ! 
I do not blame you, mademoiselle ! I have not jealousy ; 
for my love is dead ! Mon dieu / My heart also is dead 
with it ! But, before I leave him and this place forever, I 
come to say to you ” 

“You need not! ” Gus cried, with real feeling. “ Spare 
yourself further pain, poor, misused wife ! This very day 
another warned me. But, before I dreamed he was not the 
rich Brazilian, I had ordered him from this house ! ” And 
woman’s sympathy controlling the society girl, Gus Browne 
took, very gently, the slim, fair hand of the Octoroon. 

But Lili shrunk from her, withdrawing her fingers from 
the other’s clasp, with a shiver, as she dropped into a chair 
With the moan : 

* ‘ I am not — his ivife ! ” 

“ But your name ! ” Gus cried, in wonder. “ His sister?” 

Lili shook her head sadly, rising as she said : 

‘ ‘ Let me go ! I can not explain ; you would not under- 
stand ! What I was to him, that am I no more ! I have 
said my heart is dead ; so, also, he is dead ! You will for- 
give me — no? I could but make effort to save you from 
him — from yourself, perhaps — when I read this ! ” 


132 


JUNY : OR ONL Y ONE GIRL'S STOR Y. 


With still averted head, I^ili held out the note Hardy had 
given her. With crimsoned cheeks and flashing eyes, Gus 
read the lines; clenching her little hand as she cried : 

“ Insolent ! From my equal ; but from him !” 

L,ili turned slowly toward the door, as Gus recalled her 
better self, gazing at the girl with some pity, some dread. 
But Juny rushed impulsively toward the stranger, seizing 
both her hands as she cried : 

“You came to save a sister from the suffering you now 
feel. We can not let you go like this ! ” 

Upon the woman’s bruised heart, the sympathy of the 
pure girl was poured as balm. Her hands were not with- 
drawn, but great drops of relief welled from the eyes and 
rolled down the sallow oval of her averted face. 

“Pure, true-hearted child!” she exclaimed. “May the 
good God grant that you never need sympathy from woman, 
as now I need it ! To my grave will I carry your words ! 
But what am I doing ? ” And she struggled to release her 
hands. ‘ ‘ Uet me go ! You do not know ! I am unworthy 
to touch your feet ! ” 

But the strong, firm hands of the shiners’ girl would not 
release hers ; and the fresh, brave voice spoke from Juny’s 
heart : 

“ You sacrificed your feelings for her! She thanks you ; 1 
do ! You came as a stranger ; go as our friend, poor, mis- 
used wife ! ” 

Again the shiver passed over the Octoroon. She broke her 
hands from Juny’s clasp, pressing them over her face ; and 
her voice was a low wail that cried : 

Oh, God ! Never before I knew how precious was that 
word ! But I told you, I am not — his wife ! ” 

Juny ! ” Gus exclaimed ; trembling and with white lips. 
And looking from one to the other, Juny seemed unable to 
comprehend : 


A SOCIETY OBJECT LESSON. 


133 

‘ ‘ But your name is Hardy ? You said, for years, you ” 

“ You can not understand,” the unnerved Octoroon forced 
herself to say. “Your education, your society, your laws, 
all teach you to despise such as I am ! Mon dieu ! How 
cruel are those laws, to let us give the love, the duty of a 
wife, and yet forbid the empty name, and drive us to our 
shame ! ” 

“Forbid! Drive!” Gus stood amazed. 

“Yes; forbid us all but mockery of life ! ” Dili answered 
fiercely. No drooping now; her head erect, the eyes 
flaming from her pale face. “ What they call law visits on 
us the sins of generations past ; drives us to crawl and beg 
for what is our right ! Neither sympathy nor pity — not 
justice even may we hope! Oh! Such as you can never 
comprehend what / am, across the gulf between us ! And,, 
yet, I also am a woman ! ” 

Gus had drawn farther away as Dili spoke ; but Juny — 
strangely lacking in knowledge that most girls gain at board- 
ing school — only stared, fascinated by the beauty of the 
speaker and the glow of words that unmistakably rushed 
straight from her heart. 

“ What do you mean ? ” her parted lips half gasped. 

For one single instant, Dili Duvrai stood like a statue of 
Defiance, her head thrown back, her eyes flashing scorn. 
The next, her clasped hands fell heavily before her ; each 
word dropped from her white lips, solemn as the record of 
her own doom : 

‘ 4 1 am a negro ! ” 

With the words, her head was raised again and she turned 
haughtily from the room. 

Gus shuddered and turned away, the gambler’s note drop- 
ping to her feet. Juny glanced at her. 

‘ ‘ Gus ! how can you ? She is a woman — true-hearted, 
brave, who came to save you ! ” 


I3 4 JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 

But Gus never moved ; and swept by impulse, Juny rushed 
into the hall. 

“ Stop ! One instant! ” she cried. “ Do not mistake us 
so ! Who and what you are I know not — care not ! You 
came to save ; - you shall not go despised ! If you have 
sinned, God will forgive ! And what are we to judge ? ” 

She took both the woman’s hands, no longer resisting 
now, looking into her face with the bravery of that purity 
Which knows no fear. 

And again Dili’s proud head bowed low ; sobs shook her 
frame, and Juny felt hot tears upon her hand. 

“ You say we shall never see you again?” she said ear- 
nestly. “ Then take with you knowledge that we thank 
you — that we know you are unjust to yourself! Good bj^e, 
and may God bless you ! ” 

And raising her pure, fresh face, “ the shiners’ gal” pressed 
her lips upon the birth-stained brow of the Octoroon. 



THE SPIDER , OR THE FLY? 


135 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE SPIDER, OR THE FEY? 

When Mr. Tip Miles had despatched his missive to Kyle 
Hardy, he walked slowly around Madison Square, appar- 
ently in deep thought. 

As he had previously remarked to himself, he had a des- 
perate game of bluff to play with his former reckless and 
unscrupulous partner ; and, as he himself would have put 
it, Old Jackpots was not the man to “lose the pot, on any 
outside chances. ” Though he could not fully comprehend 
the clinging desire for revenge — coupled, perhaps, with profit, 
which Hardy had nursed all those years, since they parted 
at the Shiners’ Gap — the fact of its existence seemed very 
plain to him. 

He had fully meant to meet the black gambler and sell him 
back the forged papers he had captured on that eventful 
night, provided he could do so to his own personal profit and 
still not “lose the age ” on him. 

But the rapid run of events, that day, now somewhat 
changed his plan. Haste was all essential, if Hardy had 
learned that the colonel and his nephew were now in New 
York ; and, moreover, the sight of Juny — added to his own 
conviction, endorsed by his singular emploj^er, Mrs. Browne, 
that he would lose his still more singular occupation — was 
added reason for at once closing around Hardy the meshes 
of the net he was weaving for him. 

At last, the old man’s troubled face settled back into its 
wonted calm ; his pace quickened, and he struck out down 
Broadway for a noted detective bureau. 


1 3 6 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


“I'm not much of a sailor,” he muttered; “but I do see 
signs of a storm. An anchor to windward is no end of a 
good thing to hold to, when you begin to drift.” 

Into the detective’s office Tip Miles shuffled, as boldly as 
though he had never put himself anywhere near the fur- 
ther side of the law’s pale. 

“ I want to see the manager,” he said quietly to the clerk, 
busily writing in a bulky register. 

“Is the case specially important ? ” that official queried, 
without looking up. 

“Most cases are where a detective is needed,” Miles re- 
plied quietly. 

“Can you state it to me ? ” the clerk asked, looking at his 
querist this time. 

“I can,” Miles answered; but, as the clerk drew a pad 
toward him and prepared to write, he added : “But I do not 
propose to do so.” 

There was no little of “the insolence of office” in the 
clerk’s eye, as it took in his visitor’s uncouth air and 
strangely-cut clothes, not omitting the green patch from the 
mental inventory. 

“ Have a seat, then,” he said shortly. “ The chief has just 
telephoned that he will be here soon.” 

Miles took the chair and newspaper indicated by the 
lordly nod, the scribe returned to his register, and, ere 
long, Captain Hunter Beagle walked into the office and, 
passing into the private room behind it, struck his gong 
sharply. 

“ When did that man come in ? ” he asked the clerk. 

“Ten minutes ago, sir. He asked for the chief.” 

“ vSend him in ! ” 

And, as the clerk retired, the thief- taker laughed low and 
said to himself: “Odd //<? should hunt me! A queer case 
of the fly inviting the spider ! ” 


THE SPIDER , OR THE FLY? 


137 


Miles entered and quietly seated himself by the great man; 
and the latter, remarking that it was warm for the season, 
waited for him to open his case. 

“ I want a detective to-morrow, at the 2:00 P. M. Long 
Island train,” Miles said promptly. “ He must be a first-class 
man, reliable and with good nerve.” 

“ On what sort of a case ? ” asked Beagle. 

“ Simple ; very probably dangerous,” Miles replied. “ I 
want him to make an arrest in the act.” 

“ On what charge ? ” Beagle again queried. 

“ Burglary will do to begin with. There may be others; 
and, probably, the act in which he is taken will be sufficient 
for conviction. ’ ’ 

“ Um — um ! What point on the sound?” asked Beagle 
reflectively. His mind traveled straight to Browne Beach ; 
but it could not fathom the object of an arrest there. It 
could not be his other “shadow,” of course. He was Miles’ 
confederate in those papers. Perhaps— Beagle continued his 
mental calculation— this is only a clever ruse of the old fox ; 
a double on my shadow, to which he has somehow tumbled. 
But his rapid thought did not interfere with his understand- 
ing the reply of his visitor : 

“ I will show him the point. Let him meet me on the 
train and recognize me by a sign, if there is another man 
with me. I’d like to see the man now so as to know him. 
Mv name is Miles — Tip Miles.” 

“ Oho ! ” Beagle said to himself. “ The old fox does not 
suspect the shadow. The fly walks right into the parlor. 
But he only said aloud : “ Is the case an important one ? ” 

“ Very. I want your best man.” 

‘ ‘ I am my own best man in delicate and important cases, 
and Captain Beagle smiled. 

“This is both,” Miles answered briefly. “Can you 
come ? ’ ’ 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


138 

Beagle’s eye ran rapidly over a memorandum book, and 
his mind ran still more rapidly over the situation. It was 
the luckiest stroke of his career. Hardy he was certain of. 
He was too well known to the authorities of several large 
cities as “a dangerous and suspicious,” not to make the 
Brazilian grandee’s disguise simply penetrable. But Miles 
was so open and plain in his life that he had almost doubted, 
during his long shadow of the man, if he were really the 
“Jackpots” of the past, described to him by Will Browne. 
After a moment’s pause, he said : 

“Yes; at 1:00 p. m. to-morrow I have nothing very im- 
perative. I can go with you. Give me a description of the 
man I am to get.” 

Miles looked keenly at the detective. Then he buttoned 
himself up mentally, and answered quietly : 

“ What’s the need ? I’ll be there to show him to } t ou.” 

Captain Beagle’s cool grey eye never left the other’s as he 
spoke ; and promptly, as he finished, he said : 

‘‘As you please, Mr. Miles. I’ll go with you to Browne 
Beach.” 

The grey eyes saw Miles start slightly, though he answered 
calmly : 

‘‘I didn’t say that was the place.” 

‘‘Did you not? Then I may be mistaken. But I hope 
this is no trivial matter of some little game of poker, some- 
thing connected with — Jackpots .” 

But Tip Miles’ card education did not let him betray him- 
self often. His eyes were as filmy and his face as wooden 
as ever under that keen, cross-examining stare. 

‘‘I never play poker,” he answered quietly. ‘‘This is 
business .” 

‘‘Connected with your management of Colonel Baylor’s 
farm during his absence ? ” Beagle asked innocently. “Par- 
don curiosity ; but that is my profession, you know.” 


THE SPIDER , OR THE FLY ? 


139 

“That’s all regular,” Miles replied naturally. “Your 
business is to know other people’s. Mine is no secret. But 
this matter has nothing to do with the farm.” 

Beagle was silent a moment. That this was no fool he 
felt. Pumping would gain nothing ; a bold stroke might. 
Should he try it? At last he said : 

“ By the way, Mr. Miles, what ever became of an old friend 
of yours — Kyle Hardy, the Coyote? ” 

The filmy eyes stared back steadily into the cool grey ones 
and the wooden features grew only more ligneous, as Tip 
Miles answered slowly : 

“I can’t, for the life of me, make out this hand. Are you 
bluffing me, or am I bluffing at you? ” 

The detective laughed naturally. 

“Well, you are still a cool hand, Old Jackpots. But I 
merely asked from curiosity. I had a case to follow up for 
him, years ago, when you and he were on the river. It’s of 
no consequence.” 

“ Nor to me, neither,” Tip answered, with cherubic inno- 
cence. “ I haven’t seen Kyle Hardy for six years this month. 
Well, you’ll meet me at the depot ; one o’clock sharp ? ” 

“I will, Mr. Miles,” Beagle answered, striking his gong. 
“ Carson, enter Mr. Miles’ name and address in the confiden- 
tial register. Enter charge for consultation. This is mere 
form, Mr. Miles ; ” and Captain Beagle bowed his visitor out. 
Scarcely had the door closed on him, when the detective 
threw back the top of a drawer at his right hand and ex- 
posed the key of a telegraphic instrument. Rapidly calling 
up some one, he ticked out this order : 

“ Odd-looking old man ; green shade over eye ; answers 
to name of Tip Miles ; will leave this office in a minute. 
Shadow him closely and report here 8:00 p. m. ; or, by wire 
from nearest point, if he meets the tall, dark foreigner, 
with moustache, you shadowed to the Orphic last week. ’ ’ 


140 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


As Tip Miles left the front office, three minutes later, he 
muttered to himself : 

“Well ! By the eternal Jackpot ! that was a close shave. 
He’s evidently been shadowing me ; but what for ? I sus- 
pect he’s shadowing Kyle, too. If so, is it in connection ? 
Well ; it was lucky I advanced that meeting to-night ; and 
after that , he can shadow and be damned ! But I hope he'll 
meet me at the train at one o’clock to-morrow. ’ ’ 

Deep in this self-converse, Tip almost ran into a seedy, 
quiet man, just ascending the steps of the basement store 
beneath the office. The man might have been a traveling 
preacher, from his face and manner ; but his dress was not 
clerical. 

Apologizing, Miles walked eastward to Fourth avenue, 
crossed to Third and stopped to look into a show window. 
The clerical-looking man was reflected, as he lit a cigar at 
a stand across the street. 

“Oho! I am shadowed, eh?” Miles said to himself. 
“ Well, I’ll try and give him a little bit out of my old river 
experience ! ” 

He turned into Third avenue, stopped at a modest hotel 
and strode up to the office. 

“Hello, Mr. Miles,’’ said the clerk cheerily. “When did 
you come in ? ’’ 

“ This morning,” Miles answered. “ Give me my old 
room. I want to take a nap. Call me for supper at seven, 
.sharp.” 

“Front — S-s-t! Show gentleman 86, third! Baggage, 
Mr. Miles? No? Call 7, sharp. Room, sir?’’ 

“ Yes,’’ answered the clerical-looking gentleman, as he read 
Miles’ name on the register. “ Is 84, third, vacant? ” 

“ Yes— Register ? Baggage? No? Supper?” 

“ Yes, about six-thirty. Put me on the call. I may be 
asleep.” 


THE SPIDER, OR THE FLY? 


141 

“ S-s-st ! Front ! lively there ! Show gentleman up ; 
84 — third ; no baggage ; call 6:30 sharp ! ” cried the clerk 
in brisk monotone ; and off trotted the bell-boy with the 
clerical-seeming stranger. 

Meanwhile, Mr. Tip Miles had dismissed his bell-boy, 
locked the door inside and pocketed the key. Then, sin- 
gularly enough, he never paused until he had stepped to 
the sill of the low window giving upon the flat tin roof. He 
gave a searching glance at the windows above and opposite ; 
then, with the confidence of long familiarity, he stepped out 
lightly, entered a window across the angle and found him- 
self in a hallway near a staircase. 

Swiftly descending this, Mr. Miles passed through the 
ladies’ entrance into a side street. Then he quietly re- 
marked to himself : 

“By the 'tarnal Jackpot! Next time they want an old 
river sharp, they’d better send a grown-up thief-taker for a 
shadow !” 




142 


JUNY; OR ONLY ONE GIRL’S STORY. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

GIRL, AND GIRD. 

Juny stood silent in the hall of the grand mansion, when 
Dili closed the door; the gas jets flaring down upon her 
gleaming neck and arms, and showing the fair young face 
shadowed with conflicting thoughts. 

Her deepest sympathies were aroused for the unhappy 
woman, whose sad story — so briefly outlined — had opened 
to her a new chapter in the book of life. 

That Lili was a sinner and an outcast, she dimly under- 
stood ; but, as she remembered the Coyote, the scene in the 
Shiners’ Gap stood out distinct. She recalled the old negro’s 
words about the two men ; the devilish plot she heard Kyle 
Hardy outline to Miles, to lie away two human lives ; and 
she saw again his evil face, hate-hungry, as he aimed his 
pistol at the colonel’s heart. 

But, strive as she might, Juny could not recall the few 
chance words she had overheard about the stolen papers. 
Memory refused her all clue as to what they were. 

But the strange reappearance of the two men at this time ; 
their continued plotting against the only parent she had ever 
known ; their still more strange appearance, that day, under 
his very roof ; all these whirled through her brain and defied 
reasonable conjecture. 

But above all, Tip Miles’ intimacy with her adopted aunt 
defied belief ! Think of what she would, that scene rose 
again before her ; and the words, “ Shame ! Disgrace ! Con- 
nection ! ” echoed in Mrs. Browne’s heart-broken tones. 

What could it mean ? What possible bond could bind the 
great social leader to the low gambler from the purlieus of 


GIRL AND GIRL. 


143 


society ? But suddenly — in the new light turned on by Lili's 
hinted story — an awful suggestion flashed before the girl. 
But her strong common sense at once dismissed it ; 'and her 
woman’s intuition scouted such absurdity as a possible love 
affair with such a man as Tip Miles ! And that last refuge 
of woman’s logic reft from her, Juny felt the helplessness of 
conjecture and bravely turned back to the real present. 

Gus was still sitting moodily as she had left her ; the note 
lying at her feet and her manicured finger tips beating tattoo 
on the table. Juny moved softly to her, sat on the arm of 
the tufted chair, and, passing her arm about the other girl, 
pressed her cheek against hers. 

‘ ‘ Oh ! Gus ! Isn’t it too dreadful ? ” she said, with a bitter 
little shiver. 

“I should say so!” Gus answered angrily, spurning the 
little note with the toe of her bronze slipper. *“ To think of 
it ! And the man a common gambler! ” 

‘ ‘ That makes little difference. It would be just as dreadful 
for the woman — whatever he might be.” 

Gus broke from the encircling arm and twisted round to 
stare at Juny’s face with wondering eyes. 

“ You say that ! Oh ! Juny, how can you ? ” she cried half 
hysterically. 

“Because I mean it, dear,” Juny answered stoutly, but 
not ungently. “ You know how I have been raised — and I 
fear I am the wild girl still. But it seems to me that the 
woman’s sin is no less, because the man is greater sinner still. 
Oh ! Gus, how my heart went out to that poor, suffering, 
repentant girl ! ’ ’ 

“Oh! Bother the girl! I thought you were speaking of 
that .” And again the bronze slipper spurned the note on the 
floor. ‘ ‘ But you were right, Juny ! So was I ! Mamma shall 
know that my intuitions are as good as hers, when I say peo- 
ple are not crimp ! ” 


144 


JUNY; OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


“Yes; I was right, unhappily,” Juny answered. “I 
never saw that ruffian but once ; that dreadful night when 
they tried to murder dad and Will ; but yesterday I could not 
believe my memory was true. Oh ! Gus, what sort of thing 
is this society you all prize so, when nameless robbers can 
creep into it ; when their pals and partners come familiarly 
to this very ’ ’ 

She stopped herself quickly. The other girl stared, sur- 
prised at the homily from such a source. 

“Oh, society is crimp enough,” she answered wearily. 

“It’s what a what God made it, I suppose. But it does 

seem horrid that people should let me meet such a man at 
their houses ; and subject us both to the visit of that shame- 
less creature ” 

“ Oh, Gus ! Don’t call her that ! Poor thing ! My heart 
goes out to * her now ! With her beauty and pride and 
gentleness, there must be some excuse that you and I, thank 
God! can not understand. She is so young still.” 

“ She let the man deceive her, all the same,” Gus retorted, 
rather warmly. 

“ She said she was a child ! Can you judge her so harshly, 
when he deceived you and Aunt Browne and all society ? ’ ’ 

“ I don’t care ! ” Gus retorted, half sobbing. “ It was 
shameful of her to come here ! ’ ’ 

“ Why, Gus! how ca?i you?” reproached the other girl. 
“Think what a sacrifice of pride it must have been. And 
she came to save you ! ” 

“ I don’t care ! ” Gus repeated. “And besides, she’s a 
negro ! ’ ’ 

“ She is not!" Juny retorted warmly. 

“She said so herself!” Gus answered, putting her lace 
handkerchief to her eyes. 

“ She said that in defense of her terrible mistake,” Juny 
answered warmly. “With her grace and gentleness ; with 


GIRL AND GIRL. 


145 


that face and those hands, she is no negro ! Some far-off 
taint of blood may be there ; but, Gus, she's a lady ! ’ ’ 

“You ought to be ashamed!’’ Gus answered angrily. 
“ But I forgot how you were raised.” 

A hot flush rose to the girl’s face and a hot answer trem- 
bled on her lips. But she only said coldly : 

“ / have not forgotten ! I remember every day that I was 
an outcast, like that poor woman you condemn. Did I for- 
get it, I could never thank dad enough ; never thank God 
enough, for giving him to me ; for I might have been as she 
is ! Yes ; my earliest friend, my best friend, was a negro ! 
And, different as he is from her, I respect his goodness and 
I love him still.” 

Gus rose with trembling lips and reddened cheeks ; hot 
little sobs shaking the laces over her shapely bust. It was 
plain that she — as her ex-lover was about that time confiding 
to Mr. Tip Miles about himself — “had nerves.” 

‘‘Don’t be angry, Gus,” Juny said more gently. ‘‘You 
know I do not understand society ways ; but I only spoke 
the truth.” 

“It isn’t crimp to — to speak the truth!” Gus sobbed 
angrily, “when it’s not — pleasant!” and the daughter of 
her mother swept from the room, still racked by the little 
sobs ; and crossing to the library, hid her face on the writing 
table for that best feminine solace, “a good cry.” 

But the storm was soon over, leaving only heat lightning 
in the eyes and reminiscent luridity upon the cheeks. Re- 
current anger dried the tears, and, biting her pretty lips, the 
society girl forgot the injured miss and wrote rapidly upon 
Tiffany’s best linen note. Then she sealed the missive and 
rang the bell. 

“Wash, take this note at once to the Orphic Club, she 
said to the old negro, as he answered the summons. “ Only 
leave it. There’s no answer.” Then recrossing to the draw- 


10 


146 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


ing-room, she found Juny pacing the floor in restless thought. 
Going to her, Gus passed her arm around the girl’s waist 
and walked with her a moment in silence. Then she said : 

“I was hateful, ugly, just now, Juny, dear. I know I 
was not one bit crimp. But I was so miserable, so ashamed 
of all this wretched affair ! ” 

“That’s all right,” Juny answered frankly. “I don’t 
mind one bit, Gus. I never had a lover ; but I guess 
I’d feel as you did, if I ever had an unworthy one. But, 
dear, there are more serious things than that about this 
man ” 

Again Juny stopped herself abruptly. Should she trust 
Gus and speak of the load that was weighing on her young 
heart? Will knew the men were here; from what he had 
said as they left the dinner table, he even seemed to know 
of the Coyote’s visits. And Will had warned her not to 
breathe a word. He was at work to foil these men, and she 
had perfect faith in his courage and discretion. A chance 
word might undo all his plans, and that thought sealed her 
lips as she began to speak. 

Fortunately, Gus misunderstood the words she heard, for 
she answered slowly : 

“ Yes, I know there are. The fact is bad enough ; but if 
it should get out in society. Oh ! heavens, it would kill 
me ! I’ll not even mention it to Will.” 

“ No ; do not mention it to him yet,” Juny assented. 

“Nor to mamma, of course. She’d have conniptions! 
But it would be crimp to let her see the difference between 
her Monte Cristo and Michael Angelo ! And, oh ! Juny, 
if he should ever hear it ! ” 

“He never need hear it, Gus. As for Aunt Browne — 
never breathe it to her. Burn that note without reply.” 

* ‘ Oh ! no ! The reply has gone already ! And such a 
reply ! Juny, I just took his skin off ! ” 


GIRL AND GIRL. 


147 


Juny stared at the other girl in silence a moment. Then 
she said calmly : 

‘ ‘ Perhaps you know best, Gus. / should not have written ; 
but then, perhaps, it is conventional.” 

The cuckoo clock on the mantel cooed out ten times. 

“ Good gracious ! Ten o’clock ! Let’s go to bed, Juny,” 
cried Gus, quickly oblivious of the trouble about her. 4 4 1 
shall look like a witch for the excursion to-morrow ! ” 


148 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


CHAPTER XX. 

A ClyUE PERHAPS. 

Juny looked after Gus’ retreating figure with mixed emo- 
tions. Pity for a really fine nature in danger of utter ruin 
from conventions — though perhaps scarce analyzed by the 
girl herself — was one of the strongest. But paramount was 
the unuttered thankfulness, that so far she had escaped that 
contact with society which seemed to smother feeling under 
fixed rules and to indurate self. 

But fast succeeding — and swallowing, as Aaron’s rod, all 
the rest — recurred the question : What were these men to 
her and hers ? Why had the older insisted so feelingly on 
speaking to her ? What hold could he have upon her dad ; 
worse, upon dad’s sister? 

Pacing the grand drawing-room, Juny thought all this ; 
longing to see Will, and, if nothing more, explain the visit 
of the Octoroon and her discovery of Hardy’s alias'. At last, 
excited and feverish, she passed the street door, standing 
upon the broad stoop to inhale the fresh night air. But still 
reverie dominated her brain ; and it was with a start that she 
saw a boy stop, examine the house critically and then run 
up the steps. 

‘ ‘ This is Cap’n Wilmut Browne’s house, hain’t it ? ” cried 
Tarty Miggs, addressing the figure dark in shadow. But, 
as the girl moved into the glare of hall gas, the Leading Man 
gave his most magnificent wave to the crownless hat. “ Hi 
prays ten thousing pardings, mos’ grayshus lady ! Hi 
didn’t know it wus you, yer kin specerlate ! But see; ‘I 
crook the pignut hinges o’ mer knee, that fawns may foller 
farming’!” 


A CLUE PERHAPS. 


149 


“What on earth are you talking about ? ” Juny asked, half 
uneasy, half in amusement. “ If you can’t speak English, 
I’ll call one of the gentlemen.” 

“ Kerect, miss,” Larry replied. “Please do, if ary on ’em 
happens to be Cap’n Wilmut Browne ! ” And he added, sotto 
voce: “ My eye ! Ain 1 1 she a corker ! ” 

“Captain Browne is out,” Juny began; then recalling 
Will’s warning, she added quickly : “You have a message 
for him ? I was waiting for it ! ” 

“ You / ‘ ’Tis strange ; ’tis passing strangers ! ’ ” Mr. 

Miggs answered. “ Did he know the old ’un would send th’ 
note ? ” 

“ How else could I be waiting to receive it for him ? ” was 
the answer Juny made, with a great lump in her throat and 
an inward petition to the Recording Angel to blot that little 
white one from the record. 

“Agin’ I axes yer parding!” Larry said, with another stare 
into the remembered magnificence of that hallway. “ But it 
does look like as the old ’un has swell up frends fur a chip o’ 
his stripe ! You know him ? ” 

Into Juny’s brain flashed Miles’ visit of that morning ; and 
in an instant she was again “the shiners’ gal,” with every 
faculty alert. 

“ Know the old ’un ? ” she repeated easily. “ What ! That 
funny little man with the green patch over his eye ? ” 

“Kerect, miss! You're engaged ! ” Larry rejoined, with 
a grin. “ Then this yere note’s frum him ter Cap’n Wilmut 
Browne ; promp’ derliv’ry an’ postidge ter collec’— yer may 
twitter!” 

“You mean that I am to pay you?” Juny asked, with a 
sense of impending surprises, as she seized the dingy- 
brown envelope. 

“That’s ’bout ther size of it, miss, yer may estermate ! ” 
Master Miggs answered. “Th’ old ’un said the note was 


150 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


worth a fiver ter th’ Cap’n. Sa-ay ! I’ll throw in ten tickets 
ter th’ benefit besides ! ” 

Juny opened her porte-monnaie, gave the boy a gold piece, 
and entered the house in haste. The letter literally burned 
her, in impatience to know its contents, for it seemed plain 
that some clue to the mystery around them was hidden in it. 

Master Miggs stood a moment, hat in hand and staring at 
the bronzed door. 

“ By Junior Brutal Boot ! ” he soliloquized. “ She is a 
corker ! Wot hyes ! wot harms ! and wot a neck ! Yer may 
sinkterlate ! but she’s built from the ground up ! An’ this 
yere leetle yaller feller, he stans fur fifty tickets ‘ at one fell 
swap ! ’ Gimini Jones ! But m’ luck’s comiu ’ : 4 Th’ stars 
has said it an’ th’ voice of m’ own profit and in dormitory 
soul can fin’ th’ shinin’ silver’ ! ” 

Then running down the steps, Larry turned the corner, 
whistled shrill and cried to the Pete thus summoned from 
the vasty deeps of some neighboring area : 

“Show me th’ Treasury, Pete! Show her up quick! 
Look a’ this ! The wally o’ fifty tickets for one small run ! 
Hit’s a reg’lar Hedwin Boot run ! ” 

Then, locking arms, the two innocent lambs of the slums 
started homeward, on a trot. Suddenly Larry pulled up 
abruptly. 

“Stag that end-man! ’’ he cried, pointing to Wash Clay, 
stalking pompously under an opposite lamp. 4 4 I knows 
him; an’ he’s a treat, he is ! Sa-ay! Otheller!” he added, 
crossing ; “ Wot’s yer game ? Ye’re out late, hain’t ye ? ” 

“ Lor’ bress me ! ’’ cried Wash, disgusted. “ Ef yere ’ent 
da onplesunt boy agin ! Wa’ yo want, boy ? Wa’ yo want 
’long o’ me?” Suddenly his face lit, under flash of an 
idea. “ Jesso, boy, jesso ! Wha’ way yo’ gwine, eny- 
how ? ’ ’ 

“ Straight that-a-way,” Larry replied, pointing. 


A CLUE PERHAPS. 


151 

“An’ does yo kno’ were de Orfic Club hous am aittu- 
wated ? ” Wash asked. 

“Wot! That ’ere brass-mounted hotel, were de swells 
eats an’ drinks an’ gambles, but never takes dere wives ? 
Bet yer« boots ! ’’ 

“Tekdis lee tie letter strait dar ! ” Wash said, “an’ I’ll 
gib yo’ a quarter, sho’s yo’ born ! Dere ain’t no anser ; jes 
lebe de note an’ git ; yo’ heah me ? ” 

“ Percisely ! I hain’t deefe,’’ Tarry rejoined, pocketing 
the fee ; and the trio separated in diverse ways. 

Juny, standing in the hall, read and reread the scrawled 
address 011 the envelope. Then she rushed to the drop light 
and looked through it, against the blaze. It was a thin, 
brown envelope, evidently with no enclosure ; only a few 
faint lines of writing. Nothing gave her any clue to the 
contents ; but she could not lay the missive aside. 

What could it contain ? Possibly the solution of all the 
mystery. Possibly — and she shivered at recollection of their 
devilish ingenuity in evil — some new trick to lure Will, or 
her dad, into peril. 

Twenty times she turned to the window, as rapid steps 
approached the house, but ever passed beyond. Three times 
the little carved cuckoo had flapped his wooden wings and 
sounded once ; and now he cooed eleven times. Yet, no 
sign of Will ; and the girl, putting the note in her bosom, 
reluctantly passed up the stairs. 

Tapping at Colonel Baylor’s door, she responded to his 
cheery “Come in, darling!” with assumed gayety ; berat- 
ing his late hours and ordering him to bed. He laughed 
and pointed to piles of papers on the table. 

“Your aunt insists on full explanation of her steward- 
ship, before we go to Browne Beach to-morrow,” he said, 
smiling. “ Really, the place is hardly worth the taxes to 
me, save for a memory that makes it priceless ; a memory 


152 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


that was all I had in this world, till God sent you to me, 
Juny, my daughter ! ” 

Drawing her to his knee, the old soldier put his hands 
upon her shining hair, with all a mother’s tenderness ; and 
they talked long and fondly. 

“But, dad, darling, you must go to bed now ! ” the girl 
said at last. ‘ ‘ For once you shall disobey Aunt Browne ; 
and Gus has lectured me asleep about society ! ’ ’ 

Then, as he pushed aside his papers, she added : 

“ Kiss me and give me your blessing, dad! For, oh ! I do 
love you so dearly.” 

And, with his blessing, she went to her own room. Still 
fevered with anxiety, she slipped on a light wrapper, threw 
herself into a rocking-chair; and, through the door ajar, 
watched impatiently for Will. 

One hour passed ; another, and her watch told her that 
the time was passed when she might hope to see him that 
night. 

Then, prepared for bed, Juny sunk upon her knees. Long 
and fervently she prayed to the Father of the orphan, that 
He might guide her and protect from hidden dangers those 
dearest to her. 

And then, through her pure appeal to the great Mercy 
Seat, went up the virginal petition for forgiveness and 
nepenthe to that suffering sinner, who had brought her bur- 
then to them that night. 


OFF THE TRACK. 


153 


CHAPTER XXI. 

OFF THE TRACK. 

Captain Beagle was not too busy that afternoon to let his 
thoughts sometimes revert, to the Octoroon, whose beauty 
and whose troubles had taken such hold upon his usually 
tough sympathies. 

Had the fablist who wrote of “The Lion in Love ” studied 
the detective species, we might have had a version of “ the 
detective in spoons ; ’ ’ showing the all-pervadence of that 
tender passion, which not even official pachyderms may 
resist. 

And, as night fell and Beagle li.t the gas, he drew out 
letters from the New Orleans chief, giving Hardy’s antece- 
dents and, incidentally, full details of Lili’s birth. A strange 
smile hovered over the thief-taker’s face, as he muttered : 

“ I really believe it’s a case of spoons ! I certainly can’t 
get that woman’s eyes out of my mind ; and, by George ! 
what a figure she has ! It’s a cursed shame that brute has 
blinded the poor child so long ; and treating her so, too. 
Half the time nothing to eat in the house, while my lord 
swells in society and has his wine at the club ! Well, I’ve 
opened her eyes, at last ; but how am I to give her the 
promised proof? But, I may click the bracelets on Mr. 
Hardy to-morrow night, and his pal walks into the net to 
help me ! ” 

He sat down to write again, as Carson tapped at the door 
and handed in a card. 

“ McTavish ! I sent him on an eighteen-hour shadow! 
Send him in ! ” exclaimed the chief, adding as the clerical- 


/ 


I54 JUNY: OR ONL Y ONE GIRL'S STOR Y. 

looking man entered, “What have you done with your 
man ? ’ ’ 

“ Dost him ! ” McTavish answered, blunt but downcast. 

“ How ? ” The one word meant volumes. 

“ He went straight to his room at the hotel, to sleep ; a 
seven-o’clock call. I engaged the connecting room. There 
was no transom ; the key on his side. There was no sound ; 
but when the call-boy came — and I swear he had never 
opened his door — the bird had flown ! ’ ’ 

“ Um ! This is apt to help your promotion ! You can 
go! ” 

Captain Beagle wrote until after nine o’clock. Then he 
closed his office and strolled slowly homeward, passing 
Hardy’s house — on both sides of the street — before he let 
himself into his own. On his private desk lay several 
papers ; but, without noting them, he passed to the window 
and again stared thoughtfully at the gambler’s residence. 

There was clatter of hoofs on the cobbles ; the brougham 
passed and stopped ; and, as he leaned from the window, 
the detective thought he saw, in the dim light, two figures 
descend from it. Gliding into the street, he stood in the 
shadow as the vehicle slowly turned and came toward him. 
Then he stepped out and walked along by it with the low 
words: “Hist! Barney; which way?” 

“It warn’ t him, this toime ; thim two wimmin,” replied 
the driver from his seat. “Dexin’tun avenoo ; thot house 
were he goes ! ” 

“ Did they go in ? ” 

“ Th’ maddum wint insoide an’ sthaid a- wile. Thin she 
coom oot a-cryin’ ; an’ th’ ole ’ooman an’ she had it all th’ 
way hoom ! ” 

“ All right, Barney ! ” And Captain Beagle, turning into 
his own house, muttered: “Phew! She’s prompt! But 
she won’t need the proof from vie , now ! ” 


. OFF THE TRA CK. 


155 


Then he glanced over the notes left in his absence. Read- 
ing Wilmot Browne’s, he pushed the others aside, reread it 
carefully ; then quickly opened the bureau in the room. 

“ Darn it ! That’s a puzzler ! Browne shadowing one of 
my men himself, and tumbling to changed time before I did ! 
By Jove ! If they’ve separated before I can nab those 
papers, I’ll lose a fat fee ! Wonder if old Miles wrote that 
note after he saw me ! Curse McTavish ! If he’d half an 
eye, I should have the job done by this time ! ” 

While so speaking, the detective rapidly selected from the 
bureau a reddish wig and beard, a slouch hat and a loose 
spring ulster ; which he deftly put on, to utter change of his 
appearance. Then he slipped a ’shining pair of light hand- 
cuffs and a small, but murderous-looking, ‘ ‘ billy ’ ’ into his 
pocket ; tried the chambers of his revolver and opened the 
front door. 

“Hunter!” called a quiet voice from above. “Going 
again ? ’ ’ 

“ Yes, mammy ! ” the man answered respectfully. 

“ Back soon ? ” 

“Can’t tell. Put out lights. Good night, mammy;” 
and the thief-taker started for Tompkins Square, as though 
in the last lap of a free-for-all match for a big purse. 

Twice, as he strode along, he slipped out his watch and 
sounded the repeater. It was quarter to ten, before he had 
reached Tompkins Square ; and five minutes more before he 
saw Will Browne, stalking moodily in the shadow opposite 
the pawn-shop, with eyes fastened on the feebly-shining Lom- 
bard coat-of-arms. But he drew back into deeper shadow, 
as Beagle crossed the street toward him. 

“ All right ! I’m Beagle,” the latter whispered. 

“Well, you’ve waited long enough,” Will whispered 
back wrathfully. “What’s this disguise?” 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL' S, STORY. 


156 

“ Had interview with Miles ; musn’t know me should we 
meet. Is lie there ? ” 

“ Both went in about nine. Why the devil ” 

“Stick to business,” Beagle interrupted. “Got your 
note ten minutes ago. What do you know?” 

“ Nothing ! ” Will replied shortly. “I pay you, to know. 
They are both in the house ; but the Jew would not let me 
put my nose in.” 

“ That’s proper ; he’s all right,” Beagle answered. “But 
you are a keener ! Watch close for the black fellow till I 
get back.” 

He crossed the street again and, to Browne’s surprise, dis- 
appeared into the narrow, fetid alle} T beside the shop. 

“Ss-t-tt! Lay low, Isaac ! ” the detective whispered, as he 
emerged from the alley into the open space ; and the old 
man moved noiselessly from the window and crept toward 
him. 

“Have they changed any papers yet?” Beagle whis- 
pered. 

“ Nein ; dey haf gwarrel lout, den dey mek frents. Dey 
haf shanged no babers }^ed. Dot oit man schwere he none 
haf ; und dot oder von, he offer ’ tousan ’ toller ! Und he yet 
haf schwere dem babers can not he geefe undil domerrer at 
drei o’glock ! ” 

“ Did he say where f ” Beagle asked quickly. 

“Yah; ein fahrm haus. Und den tey spheak off ein 
yunger ” 

“ So ! A young woman who lives with Hardy ? ” 

“ Nein. Kin schile dot he many years so long ” 

“ Never mind that. I’m after papers, not kids, now,” the 
detective interrupted. “ You’re sure Miles gave none? ” 

“ Nein ! Alvays I know vereof I spheak ! ” 

“ And he promised them to-morrow ? ” 

“ Yaw ! I voot pet your life off dot ! ” 


The detective hesitated, groped his way back toward the 
street, then turned back to the narrow, reeking yard and 
stood by the pawnbroker, where the thin shaft of light shone 
through the closed shutter. 

To his first glance, the room seemed empty. Had the 
prey escaped while he had talked ? 

Next instant his quick eyes took in the facts. Hardy had 
gone ; Miles lay motionless, with head resting on limp arms 
upon the table. 

“ Watch ! Don’t lose this one ! ” he whispered to Isaac ; 
then made all possible speed toward the street. 

Browne was not in sight ; no response came to his low 
whistle ; and Captain Hunter Beagle profanely remarked : 

“ Well ! Damn me ! But here’s a go ! ” 




JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


153 



CHAPTER XXII. 

DOCTOR AND PATIENT. 

Beagle tried the front door ; it yielded to his touch. Slip- 
ping his “billy” over his wrist, and raising his bull’s eye 
over his head, he passed the dark shop and stood by the 
sleeping Miles. The man had shown himself no mean 
antagonist ; and he doubted if he were drunk, or ‘ ‘ playing 
* possum.” 

“He hasn’t McTavish to deal with now,” thought the 
veteran thief-taker. “ If he slips vie , he’s the first one. He 
ain’t drunk; he’d breathe louder!” Then, suddenly sus- 
picious, he peered under the table and on Miles’ clothes, for 
signs of blood, adding: “No marks on him; it can’t be 
murder. Oho! That's the game!” He raised the half- 
empty glass, gave a long sniff and smiled. “ Drugged ! 
Well, he’s a bigger fool than I thought ! Here, Isaac ! Get 
some cold water and wash his face ! ” he added, as the other 
entered ; and he felt Miles' pulse and coolly lifted his eyelids 
and examined the pupils. 

“Veil! Ish he det?’’ Schonstein asked nervously. “I 
vill haf no murter mate under mine haus, ain’d it? ” 

“ He’s all right. Rather heavy dose, but he’ll sleep it 
off,’’ Beagle answered, peering into the empty grate and 
inverting the cracked mantel-vase. “Wonder if he left the 
bottle? ” 

Then he shook the glaring lithograph, hanging over the 
fire-place ; and down dropped an ounce phial, still half full 
of dark fluid. Beagle again glanced at the tumbler and 
added : 


DOCTOR AND PA TIE NT. 


159 


“You’re safe from the coroner’s visit this time, Isaac. 
He hasn’t enough to hurt. That’s right ; souse him well ! ” 

And Mr. Schonstein obeyed ; dipping a peculiarly dirty 
handkerchief into the diminutive water cooler, and slopping 
the sleeper’s florid face. 

Again the detective felt his pulse, listened to the strong 
beat of his heart, and said : 

“ He’ll wake soon and want to get out at once. Does he 
understand German ? No ? Then tell him I am the German 
doctor you sent for when he fainted. Meantime, I’ll diagnose 
his case.” 

So saying, Captain Beagle examined Miles’ pockets quite 
as carefully — and equally as resultlessly — as Hardy had 
done. 

“It’s my belief,” he remarked to himself, as he returned 
the papers carefully — “ that this is the slickest gent I’ve had 
my claws on this many a year ! Whatever his game, if he 
don’t play it to the queen’s taste, then I don’t know the sort 
of stuff that he has spoiled for a boss detective ! If I don’t 
send him up for life, I think I’ll offer him that partnership 
he lost for McTavish. That he nodded toward the half- 
empty glass— “is the only weak play he’s made since I’ve 
shadowed him. Hello ! He’s waking. Now, stuff him, 
Ikey, and jabber at me in German ! Sure he don’t under- 
stand ? ” 

“ Don’d I haf tole you nein ! Not I know vereof I spheak, 
ain’d id? ’’ replied the other. “Aha! Now you vos feel’t bed- 
der, mein tear ! ” 

This last to Miles, who stretched himself, opened weary 
eyes and stared about him stupidly, as Beagle leaned over 
and felt his pulse. To him Schonstein rattled off a sentence 
in German, adding to Miles : 

“ Ein tochtor for you, mein tear ! You vos fainded from 
der heat, don’d id ? ” 


l6o JUNY : OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 

“ Fainted, the devil !” Miles sat bolt upright. “I never 
fainted in my life ! But I do feel rather groggy,” he added, 
attempting to rise. “ I want some water ; no — guess this’ll 
do better ! ” 

He reached for the half-emptied liquor glass, but Schon- 
stein quickly seized it and screamed : 

“ Nein ! nein ! Dose vos dem druks he geefe you ! ” 

“Yah ! dot ish so ! ” Beagle cried quickly. “ Druks vot I 
myself haf geefe you ; I myself! ” But the heel he brought 
down on Mr. Schonstein’s bunion caused that indiscreet 
assistant to yell with pain. 

Miles looked from one to the other, seized the glass and 
sniffed at it critically. Then he said, with a grim smile : 

“ Oh ! You did ? You yourselves ! Well, then I reckon 
you borrowed the flask ! ’ ’ 

And as he glanced at the cheap Yankee clock, the grim 
smile broadened into a cunning leer and he muttered to 
himself : 

“Tip, your head was level to leave ’em ! So, the darned 
fool had his trouble for nothing, after all ! ” 

“Ant you ish feel mooch bedder now, is he not?” the 
brevet doctor queried. 

“ Yes ; I’m all right, if I get out of this into the air.” 
But he reeled, as he tried to walk, and Beagle took his arm. 

“ I veel valk mit you somewheres,” he said. “ You leefe 
nod far also, ees it ? ” 

“ The Leake House, Third avenue,” Miles replied, with a 
yawn. “ Guess you’d better call a cab when we get into the 
street.” 

“So ! Ant I shall go mid you, nein ? 9 ' Doctor Beagle 
answered ; and finding a Tompkins Square night-liner, the 
pair were bumped to the hotel. 

“ Hello ! Mr. Miles,” cried the genial clerk. “ You missed 
your call this evening ? ’ ’ 


DOCTOR AND PA TIENT. 


16 


I walked out and forgot to notify you,” Tip answered. 
“I have the key. Think I’ll go up now. I’m not well.” 

“ And this gentleman with you?” the clerk asked. 

“ So ! I veel go also ant asseest, nein ? ” Beagle replied 
quickly. “ Mynheer vos a leedle not veil ; ant to me seems 
shoot have some draught composing before sleep he shall, 
peerhaps ! ’ ’ 

“ It’s not necessary. I’m all right now,” Miles said. 

“Ach! Mynheer little heemself can dell!” Beagle per- 
sisted ; and Miles, too sleepy to argue, took his proffered 
arm and went to his room. 

He was assisted to bed ; the doctor felt his pulse, watched 
his closed eyes ; then rang the bell, giving the boy who 
answered it a scribbled slip : 

‘ ‘ Give that to the clerk ! ” he said in a tone of authority ; 
and Miles — though half-asleep — was struck by the absence 
of accent, and by something vaguely familiar in the voice. 
But, too weary to think, he fell into profound sleep. 

How long after, he knew not ; but suddenly Miles lay 
wide awake, the opiate wholly slept off, and every sense 
acutely active in the reaction, hike a flash — ere yet his 
eyes were well opened — the events of the evening came 
back ; his conference with Hardy ; the proffered brandy ; 
his heavy sleep ; the German doctor ! 

And there, in the next room, with the door between ajar, 
the doctor prepared for bed, in the full light of the gas ! 

Trained in that rough school where man’s life was often 
the forfeit for one misstep, Tip Miles kept his body perfectly 
still, his mind acutely active. His own room was dark ; and 
twice ‘ ‘ the doctor ’ ’ moved softly to the door, looked in and 
listened. And twice Tip Miles closed his eyes, breathing 
the deep, regular breath of heavy sleep. 

Then the other turned to the bureau — behind the door, 
but plainly visible through the crack — and, to his not great 


i 


j 6 2 JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 

surprise, Tip Miles saw him coolly behead himself ; remove 
wig and beard and confront the smooth face of Hunter Bea- 
gle in the mirror. 

Moving noiselessly about, the detective placed the dis- 
guise in his hat ; laid his revolver and the shining hand- 
cuffs on a chair ; folded his clothes neatly over its back, and 
drew it between his bedside and the door, lest the latter 
might slam from a draft. Then he turned the gas very low, 
and Miles heard him slip into the bed, just beyond range of 
his vision. 

Tying there, with every faculty alert, but every muscle 
still, the old river-sharp mapped out his own plan by the 
other’s actions. 

That he had been shadowed by this detective twice that 
day was plain. That he had been so for months — from hints 
dropped in their afternoon’s talk — was probable ; but for what 
cause, Miles reasoned in vain, save that Beagle’s reference 
to Kyle Hardy, coupled with his presence at Schonstein’s, 
connected the Coyote with it. Was Hardy playing double, 
and setting some cunning trap for him ? Impossible that the 
Coyote would dare to hunt in couples with this known de- 
tective ; yet, here was the latter, disguised and on his track. 

Still tangling this mental puzzle, Miles heard the clock 
strike one ; then two ; and now it chimed out three. And 
all those two hours Beagle had slept ; lightly at first, with 
fitful breath and occasional start ; heavily now, as testified 
by snoring, regular and deep, if not loud. 

Tittle by little Miles edged himself from his bed, moving 
noiselessly to his own door and passing his hand over the 
knob. The key was gone ! 

Then, quietly as a ghost, he glided to the next room 
and stood by the sleeper’s bed. Noiselessly and slowly 
he secured the pistol ; then the hand-cuffs, testing their 
springs, to see that they would snap easily. 


DOCTOR AND PATIENT. 


163 

Beagle was lying prone upon his back, his left arm across 
his breast, his right easy at his side. 

Without perceptible movement— with the deft skill of a 
juggler Miles slipped the bracelet over the sleeper’s right 
wrist ; and, ere its snap had half roused Beagle, his right 
hand had been seized with iron grip, jerked down to the left, 
and the hand-cuff snapped upon that also ! 

Bolt upright sat the manacled detective, yet only half 
awake ; but the click of a pistol-lock brought him well out 
of sleep, as he felt its cold muzzle on his brow. 

Tie still ! If you move, I shoot ! ’ ’ Miles said softly. 

“What the devil do you mean?” cried the captured 
capturer, more in amaze than fear. “Are you going to 
murder me ? ’ ’ 

That depends ! I will, if you open your mouth again ! ’ ’ 
Miles answered candidly. And, so speaking, he seized the 
upper sheet, tearing it down the middle ; again tearing the 
half. Then he said shortly : ‘ ‘ Sit up !” 

Beagle lay doggedly still ; deep mortification and impotent 
rage struggling for mastery in him. But Miles did not 
pause. 

“ Sit up ! ’’ he repeated. “ Else, say your prayers !” 

Beagle rose slowly and cautiously, drawing his hands up 
high on his breast, as his feet swung to the floor. 

“ Drop your hands ! That’s better, ” Miles said in a whis- 
per. ‘ ‘ Those cuffs are light ; but the dodge is too old to 
rap me with ’em. Turn your back and move lively, too! ’’ 

There was no recourse. As Beagle sullenly obeyed, Miles 
deftly knotted the heavy cloth strip through his elbows ; 
passed the long end round his ankle and struck him under 
the knee. As the leg bent, he bore on the bandage ; and, 
with a grunt of rage, Beagle rolled heavily on the bed, 
bound a la Rarey. Next moment, the other leg was tied, as 
Miles said : 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


164 

“ You force me to this yourself; coming disguised to my 
room and locking me in. I’m on a piece of detective work, 
bigger than yours with me possibly can be. I went to you 
square, to take you in. You lied and shadowed me ! I 
don’t know how you’re dangerous; but you are, and by the 
’Tarnal Jackpot ! I’ll draw your teeth ! ” 

Swiftly, as he spoke, Miles gagged securely the bound 
detective ; closed the shutter and pulled down the shade. 
Then he took the folded clothes of his prisoner ; locked the 
connecting door ; and, putting the key in Beagle’s pocket, 
laid the entire wardrobe far away under his own mattress. 

Then, hastily dressing himself and pocketing the revolver, 
Miles stepped once more upon the flat roof, crossed the 
angle and was soon out in the street. 



A GIDDY GAME OF DR A IV. 


165 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

A GIDDY GAME OF DRAW. 

The stained glass windows of the Orphic Club were ablaze 
with light, and through them and the frequent opening door, 
showed glimpses of “revelry by night.” The rooms were 
full, and the hum of conversation was cut by the pop of 
“ extra dry ” and the distance-mellowed click of billiard balls. 
And toward this lively scene Kyle Hardy strode from the 
pawnshop, with Wilmot Browne behind him. 

On the latter the detective fever now burned hotly ; and, 
independent of the deep personal interest in the chase, he 
followed it with the same eager pertinacity which had borne 
him along the trail of the “ copper faces” over many a west- 
ern prairie. 

But in his heart burned hot wrath against Beagle, whom 
he relegated to the care of the lost angels and believed to be 
the most fraudulent pretense ever imposed upon the detective 
system. 

For, when Hardy had left the pawn-shop, Beagle was invis- 
ible; and, when he did reappear, Hardy and Browne had 
vanished like twin bubbles. 

And Hardy, too, raged inwardly. He had fully counted 
on getting back his papers, by force or by trick ; but the 
change in Miles made him fear that his supposed soft old 
pal had been “playing it on him” all the while ; and even 
now might be trying some dangerous trick. Then the sud- 
den return of Baylor and the revelation about Juny added 
to his uneasiness ; for he must file his papers at Washington, 
pocket his reward and disappear into another alias without a 
day’s delay. 


1 66 JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 

Gus Browne, too, was a prime factor in his thoughts. For, 
added to other dangers, he was now certain it was Juny he 
had seen that day, and he felt the girl had recognized him 
as well. But the giddy, pretty and well-bred woman, of 
whom he had signally failed his usual easy conquest, piqued 
his vanity, while his mood somewhat softened. 

Would she answer his note ? Women are always puzzles ; 
and perhaps the thought that she was really to lose him 
might pique her into a clandestine meeting, outside those 

dangerous doors ! Then 

Busily thinking, the gambler entered the Orphic door, 
and was greeted with a shower of salutations. 

‘ ‘ Thought you had grown virtuous and there would be 
no more cakes and ale,” drawled young Upton Dyke, who 
led the German of his set. 

“ Perhaps he has been drilling in General Cupid’s tactics,” 
said Major Van Borst ironically, as he removed his duster 
and handed his satchel to the boy. 

‘ ‘ Tucky in love ; unlucky at cards ; ’ ’ quoted old Boozier, 
the coolest head at cribbage in the club. “Will you defy 
the proverb ‘ for his nob, ’ de la Plata ? ” 

“Or, sit in at draw with our party ? ” put in Cutter Goldy, 
the boldest “ raiser” of the Orphic’s many. “We have 
promised Courtenay Carroll, here, to liftoff the limit to-night ; 
and let him recoup, if he can! ” 

“Oh, yes! Sit in with us,” Courtenay Carroll urged. 

“You always make the game interesting ” 

“For somebody else!” Hardy finished, with the strange 
smile that always showed his white teeth. And he spoke 
truth ; for the professional had purposely lost in the general 
games, reserving his force for the heavier players, in strictly 
private rooms. But, of late, none of these had offered ; and 
to-night he was desperate. He had not a dollar in the 
world ; was in sore need of it to further his several schemes ; 


A GIDDY GAME OF DRAW. 


167 

and the set of men urging him could afford to lose their 
thousands and laugh. 

“Well, anyway, Carroll, I’ll be your guardian angel,” 
he answered ; adding sotto voce to Goldy : “ Club rules, I 

presume ? Settle at twelve to-morrow ? ” 

“If you prefer,” Goldy answered carelessly, “you can 
divide. I have enough in my pocket for both.” 

I do prefer, Hardy replied quietly. “Some of them 
are almost strangers. Can you spare— five hundred ? ” 

“ Readily ; or double that,” was the ready response. “ I 
knew Courtenay wanted blood, so I came plethoric.” 

“Better make it the thousand, then,” Hardy answered 
carelessly ; and, sitting at the desk, he wrote an order on the 
Brazilian Legation, at Washington, for that amount. 

“ Why, that is not necessary,” Goldy said, following him. 
“Just hand it to me to-morrow.” 

Again Hardy’s smile disclosed his teeth. 

“ C'est indifferent ! ’ ’ he said. “Better take it, now ’tis 
written. Men sometimes die overnight.” And carelessly 
stuffing the roll of bills in his pocket, Hardy was following 
the other men to the stairs, when the doorman advanced and 
handed him a note. 

He glanced at the well-known writing and with “ Pardon, 
one moment,” to the others, stepped back to the table and 
tore it open ; his face clouding as he noted the absence of the 
invariably apparent crest of the Baylor Brownes. 

Undated and unsigned, the page contained only the words : 

‘ ‘ Insolence is not surprising from a person who borrows 
his name ; but, if Kyle Hardy repeats his, the police will be 
notified.” 

The man read the lines slowly, twice ; a dingy flush creep- 
ing into his hardened face. 

“ So you know me, my fine lady ! ” he muttered. “ This 
must be Tuny’s work ! Well, that game is played ! To- 


1 68 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


morrow I’ll deal for a new one, Gus ! And then for fresh 
fields and other game ! ’ ’ 

He crushed the note in his fiercely -clenched hand ; but, 
with smiling face, followed his party to the card room. 
Already nimble waiters had placed cards and many-colored 
chips upon the ample round table ; luxurious leathern chairs 
were drawn around it ; and from two ample wine-coolers, 
long necks of champagne bottles projected beyond their pil- 
lows of ice. Flaring gas was tempered soft by opal-tinted 
globes ; and admirable works of Bouguereau, de Neuville 
and Gerome, looked down upon ‘ ‘ the pictures in little ’ ’ of 
many a king and queen. 

Gilded vice welcomed her votaries with most alluring mien; 
and soon — the first courtesy passes of the duel a la uiort being 
over — all were so immersed in it as to be oblivious to aught 
else, especially to the passage of time. 

Midnight had come and gone; the “wee sma’ hours” 
began to grow larger ; and still the gamesters anted, raised, 
bluffed and called, with avidity only freshened by the hun- 
dreds that changed hands on every deal. 

“By jove, colonel!” cried Upton Dyke, as Courtenay 
Carroll beat Hardy’s three aces with a flush. “The jade, 
fortune, has set her face against you to-night ! ” 

“He must have been awfully ‘lucky in love’ to-day,” 
Goldy said, dealing the cards. 

The dark brow of the gambler grew darker still at the 
chance thrust; but he smiled his toothsome smile, as he 
answered : 

“ It Is a long lane ; but it may turn. You know how my 
luck .shifts.” But almost as he spoke, he lost the next hand, 
and bought another stack of chips with the last tenth of 
Goldy ’s thousand. 

“By jove, colonel !” Carroll exclaimed, “that is rough ! 
Why, if the proverb about love and cards holds true, you 


A GIDDY GAME OF DR A IV. 


169 

must have victims to your chariot’s tail by the score!” 
Courtenay Carroll was in great luck ; and, of course, in great 
good humor. 

Both are equally liable to change,” Hardy answered; 
this time without his smile. “It is my age, this deal. Will 
you drink to the change, Mr. Carroll ? ” 

“With greatest pleasure ! Alphonse, some wine ! ” Car- 
roll cried, as he sat on Hardy’s left hand. 

“No; not for me!” the latter interrupted. “Another 
petit verve of that brandy, Alphonse ! ” 

Hardy reached over to touch glasses. 

Somehow, his hand shook, and a few drops of the fiery 
Cognac were spilled, in front of Carroll. 

“ Pardon my awkwardness ! ” Hardy exclaimed. “ Here ! 
quick! Alphonse.” But, even before the words were out, 
the nimble waiter had dropped his napkin on the fluid ; rub- 
bing the polished surface dry with vigorous arm. 

The deal was made. It was a big Jackpot, Hardy holding 
the age ; and Carroll, on his left, opened it. The next man 
passed out, and Goldy, on Hardy’s right, raised a hundred. 
The latter leaned back in his chair, studying his cards ; but 
sat up quickly as Carroll fanned his out, inclined toward 
him. One flash of his practiced eye into the polished 
mahogany showed Hardy the reflection of three aces ! 

“ Well, I believe I’ll see it ! ” the gambler .said. 

Carroll promptly raised five hundred, and Goldy looked 
keenly at him as he drawled : 

“ I believe you’re loaded for bear, Court, but I’ll stand it ! 
That pot is worth fifteen hundred now ! ” 

Then, a looker-on behind Hardy’s chair — had such barba- 
rism been permitted in Orphic private rooms — had seen a 
remarkable play. He held only two small diamonds, the 
nine and ten of spades and the queen of hearts. But he 
said quietly : 


iyo 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 

“ You drank to my luck, Mr. Carroll; so, I’ll stay, too, 
and raise you one thousand more ! ’ ’ 

“ Who’s ‘ loaded for bear ’ now ! ” Carroll cried, with a 
rather nervous laugh. “But I’ll see it, once ! ” 

“I’m on velvet enough to risk it, too; I stay! ’’ Goldy 
said. ‘ ‘ But I never will be a poker player ! I can't let a 
big pot go ! ” He took up the pack to deal. 

‘ ‘ By L,uck ! The pot’s worth the risk ! ’ ’ cried Hardy. 
“I’ll break a big hand to try fora bigger/ One card!” 
And he flirted the queen of hearts , face upward, into the 
Jackpot. He drew the — deuce of clubs ! 

“ Thanks for your information ! I have seen fours played 
that way,” Carroll said rather nervously. “ Give me all I 
can get, Goldy ! ” And he discarded two cards. 

“ I am satisfied with these,” the latter said, laying down 
the pack without dealing to himself. 

Carroll lifted the two cards separately ; and Hardy, appar- 
ently intent upon his own hand, caught in the mirrored 
table the reflection of — the fourth ace ! 

There was a brief pause; each man studying his cards, and 
the two players, “ not in,” watching eagerly. 

“ Age ! ” Hardy said first. He leaned back in his chair. 

“ A hundred ! ” Carroll said briefly. 

‘ ‘ I see it ! ” Goldy answered quickly. 

“ One — thousand — better ! ” Hardy said slowly. He was 
holding his cards against the edge of the table, squeezing 
them slowly apart, his eyes riveted on them. But scarcely 
were his words out when Carroll cried : 

k ‘ A thousand better than j^ou \ ’ ’ 

Goldy was between two good players, both plainly in 
earnest. Carroll, with threes only, would never have raised 
back after Hardy’s strange draw. So Goldy laughed 
lightly and said : 

“ I guess I’m learning. I lay down my flush.” 


.A GIDD Y GA ME OF DR A H 


171 

Then Hardy laid his cards upon the table, his left hand 
resting on them as he looked full in Carroll’s eyes and said, 
very quietly : 

“ We are playing for pleasure, among friends, Mr. Carroll. 
I saw your discard ; you saw mine and heard what I said 
when I made it. I now propose to — divide the pot ! ’ ’ 

“ Divide nothing ! ” cried Carroll, dropping into gambler’s 
slang in the excitement of a great hand. “ Call or quit! ” 

4 1 repeat, I play only for sport,” Hardy persisted, very 
courteously. “ It is not the game for me to call ; but I only 
raise you fifty dollars.” 

Carroll hesitated only one second. Was it courtesy warn- 
ing, or a big bluff? He seemed to think the latter, for he 
retorted : 

“ Your fifty and two thousand better ! ” 

Dead stillness reigned ; beads stood upon Carroll’s brow, 
spite of his confidence. Even the outs looked nervous, for 
such a bet was double the tacit limit even of the Orphic 
plungers. 

Only Hardy was placid, smiling his dentist-defying smile, 
as he answered : 

“You force me to violate rules. From your draw you 
can not have the winning hand. As we are not playing for 
the national debt, /call you on these ! ” 

He spread upon the table a sequent-flush of hearts ! 

With a hard, gasping breath, Carroll .shoved back his 
chair, his eyes glued to the five hearts. 

“That is tough!” he cried. “See! I drew the other 
ace ! Well ! I’ve ‘ recouped ’ enough for one night. Goldy, 
settle up the game ! ” 

Then Hardy’s elbow chanced to touch the pack on Goldy’s 
left, a few cards falling to the floor. 

The nimble Alphonse stooped to pick them up, lifting, 
with the rest, the nine and ten of spades ! 


172 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

STIIX ON WATCH. 

When Will Browne, dogging the supposed holder of the 
coveted papers, saw Hardy enter the club, a feeling of help- 
lessness seized him. Should he make a charge and arrest 
the man ; trusting that the papers might be found upon 
him? But what charge could he invent? and, besides, if 
the papers were not found, he would only have made a scan- 
dal and, at the same time, given warning to the confederates. 

Beagle, he, of course, believed on Miles’ track ; but, if 
Hardy had the papers, to what result ? 

Indeed, Will’s disgust at the detective’s seeming sloth, and 
at the mechanical, clock-work methods he used, forbade his 
relying upon either for any rapid result. And, if the papers 
had been traded, time was everything ! 

Restless, uncertain, Browne felt he must try something. 
He could enter the club and, at least, see what Hardy was 
doing ; so he crossed the street hastily and, at the foot of the 
steps, almost ran into a boy descending. 

“ Kerec, KernT ! It’s me! I jist leff’ yer a note!” 
exclaimed Larry, with flourish of the crownless hat. 

“ Tor me ? There ! ” Will exclaimed ; then suddenly recall- 
ing the boy’s mistake of his identity, he added : “Oh, yes; 
that’s all right. Who was it from ? ” 

“ Can’t say didn’t read it, yer may simmer ! ” the boy 
replied. “ It wus give ter me by that wind bladder of a 
nigger up ter Cap’n Browne’s house ! ” 

“ Captain Browne’s house ! On Lexington avenue?” 

That’s ther station, yer may ruminate ! But ther warn’t 
to be no anser. Hi jest leff’ it wid der flunkey in majer- 


STILL ON IV A TCH. 


173 

jin’ral’s togs ! ” Larry answered, jerking contemptuous thumb 
toward the door. 

“Wait a moment! ” Will cried. He ran swiftly up the 
steps, his brain a-whirl with wild conjectures, rising only to 
be dismissed. 

“A note was just left for Colonel de la Plata?” he said 
to the doorman. 

“Yes, sir. I handed it to him just as they went up to 
the card room.” 

Browne’s last hope of stopping the note— even of seeing, 
by the handwriting, from whom it came — was gone. Could 
Gus be corresponding with this worse than blackleg? 
Scarcely, he thought ; both from her slurring remarks about 
him and her speech as she left the dining-room that night. 
Could Juny have caught at his suggestion and risked some 
bold stroke, in her old way, to circumvent the gambler ? 
That seemed more impossible still, in the changed condition 
of all parties. 

But the note was gone ; what to do next ? Plainly but 
one thing ; never to lose sight of the plotter with the papers 
on him, until the result of Beagle’s chase of Old Jackpots 
was known. And to reach Beagle the boy was a lucky 
chance. He asked the doorman if Major Van Borst had re- 
turned. To his delight, the servant replied that he had, 
and was now in the club at supper. 

'“I will send in your card, sir,” the man offered. 

“No, I’ll wait; there is no hurry,” Will answered. 
“Meanwhile, I’ll write another note.” He moved to the 
reception room and hastily scribbled : 

“ Am waiting on K. O. T. Must see you. Wait for me 
till he goes home from club” 

Without either signature or address, he folded the paper 
and sealed it in a blank envelope. Then he went to the 
porch and beckoned Larry, standing patiently on the sidewalk. 


174 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


“ Do you know Captain Beagle, the detective?” he asked. 

“Yes, when I sees him, yer may investigate,” the boy 
answered. 

‘ ‘ Do you know where I live ? St. Mark’s Place ; where 
you brought me the note this evening ? ’ ’ 

“ Cert ! My brains ain’t gone ter Congress,” Larry replied. 
“ I’m liable to know were I goes, yer can twitter ! ” 

“Opposite there, nearer Second avenue, is No. 38. Cap- 
tain Beagle may be there. Take this and ask the lady who 
opens the door if he is in. If not, you sit and wait until he 
comes. This note must be given into his own hand. You 
understand ? ’ ’ 

“Hi jest do,” Larry answered cheerily. “I knows th’ 
scene kerect, yer can elevate. ‘ Ther house of Marion 

Delorme. A bucket will be given thee. Grasp hit 9 ! 1 

know ! ’ ’ 

Off ran Larry on his new mission, and Will, re-entering 
the club, sat down to wait. 

At last Major Van Borst appeared and, warmly greeting 
the cavalryman, acknowledged the tardy receipt of his 
note. 

“ Delighted to see you in the flesh, Browne, and so much 
of it, too,” he said. “ By Jove, a diet of Indian arrow heads 
seems to agree with you ! Just back from Europe V 9 

“Yes,” Will answered. “And just in time, too. Apropos , 
my visit to-night was for a special purpose. You can do me 
a favor, Van Borst.” 

“Then you have only to name it, as you know,” his brother 
officer said frankly. 

I felt that,’ Will answered. “ Besides, I want to give 
you a warning about the club.” 

“About the club? ” the major echoed. “ Why, you know 
I'm senior of the governing committee. What is wrong 
about the Orphic ? ” 


“Nothing, that I know,” Will answered; “but there is 
something radically wrong^about one of your visiting mem- 
bers.” 

“ De la Plata ? I’d wager he is the one.” 

“What I say to you, Van Borst, must be in strictest confi- 
dence ; otherwise, it may ruin cherished plans of mine and 
defeat its .own object.” 

“You may consider it strictly so,” the major answered. 
“On my word as an officer and a man.” 

Then Will briefly stated what he knew of Hardy and his 
alias ; his surprise at finding him a member of the Orphic ; 
Jiis greater anger at knowing him a visitor in his own house. 

Van Borst listened attentively. Then he gave a long 
whistle of surprise. 

“Well, the fellow has cut a broad swathe here for months,” 
he said; “but somehow I’ve always mistrusted him; a sort 
of ‘ Dr. Fell ’ dislike I could never analyze. Let’s see where 
he is now.” 

He left the room, returning shortly with report of the 
poker party. 

“ It’s the fastest set in the club,” he said. “ I simply 
looked into the room, of course ; but they are already at it, 
hammer and tongs ; and Carroll is making the play light- 
ning.” 

‘ ‘ He’ll hear thunder before Hardy gets through with 
him,” Browne answered. “ Now, I want to stay here until 
he leaves.” 

“So do I. And then he’ll not return,” Van Borst 
answered, sitting at the desk and filling out a card. “ This 
makes you a member of the Orphic for ten days. Now, have 
a cigar and tell me all you have done and propose to do in 
this matter.” He touched the bell, adding to the servant 
who answered it : “ As. soon as the poker party up stairs 

begins to break up, notify me promptly.” 


176 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


Long and earnestly the two men talked ; first of the 
present trouble, then of old army times, and of Browne’s 
European trip. The clock struck midnight ; then one-two- 
three ! All club lights were out, save the sitting room and 
hall. Suddenly the servant reappeared and Van Borst 
said : 

‘ ‘ Quick ; cross into the reading room in the dark. I must 
interview this gentleman ; but you need not lose sight of 
him.” 

Browne moved silently across the hall ; and the poker 
players descended the stairs slowly. 

“ Rather a late session, gentlemen,” Van Borst remarked 
pleasantly. “ Rules, you know.” 

“ Come, old man, let us up easily,” Goldv answered, cheer- 
ily. ‘ ‘ It was a benefit for Carroll ' ’ 

“And he took it,” that loser answered glumly. “Don’t 
preach to-night, Major.” 

“ I have waited for a few words with you all,” Van Borst 
answered seriously. “Step in here, please. It is a club 
matter, strictly.” 

” Then I’ll not intrude,” Hardy said courteously. 

“ It concerns you specially,” Van Borst answered. “ Pray 
join us ; ” and following the rather wondering party into the 
only lighted room, the club governor closed the door. Then 
he said : 

“I have had no time to consult my brother governors, 
gentlemen, but this is a serious matter. Therefore, I shall 
act at once and abide their censure. Colonel de la Plata, you 
have a visiting member’s card, I believe?” 

“Yes; here it is, Major,” Hardy answered, h an diner the 
card to Van Borst. 

“Then,” the latter answered quietly, “it is my duty to 
withdraw it.” 

“ On what grounds ? ” Hardy exclaimed. 


STILL ON IV A TCH. 


177 


“That it was obtained on false pretenses,” Van Borst 
answered quietly. 

“Do you mean to insult me?” Hardy asked in bullying 

tone. “ If so, I’ll teach you ” 

“Wait a moment. This card was issued to Colonel de la 

Plata. There is no such person ’ ’ 

“You lie ! ” roared Hardy desperately. 

A hot flush rose to the old soldier’s face ; but he controlled 
himself well ; continuing as though uninterrupted. 

‘ ‘ And he is personated by a noted professional blackleg, 
Kyle Hardy!” 

With a howl of rage, the gambler sprang forward with 
raised hand ; but the younger men restrained him ; and 
Goldy said meaningly : 

“ Stop, sir ! No brawling here. If Major Van Borst has 

spoken on false information ” 

“There is no mistake,” the major interrupted. “This 
man is a swindler and a blackleg. You had best go quietly,” 
he added to Hardy. ‘ ‘ If you attempt any bluster, I’ll ring 
for an officer and enter — another charge ! ” 

With glaring eyes and clenched teeth Hardy listened until 
the last two words. Then his face changed to livid ashen, 
and he bit his lip fiercely. 

“ You are on your own dunghill ! ” he muttered brutally. 
“ Damn you ! I’ll catch up with you elsewhere. As for 
your picayune club, I’ll leave it gladly.” 

“ Not quite yet,” Goldy said, crossing to the door. “ Car- 
roll, don’t you see it all now ? ” 

“Yes ; I see plainly that what was a remarkable hand 
for a gentleman was a very simple robbery by a blackleg.” 

“You lie ! I say,” yelled Hardy, turning on him. “ I’ll 
have your blood to pay this insult ! ” 

“Why you want the earth,” Carroll answered coolly. 
“You ought to be satisfied. You’ve got my money.” 


12 


i 7 8 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


With the rage and venom of a wounded wild cat, Hardy 
sprang toward Carroll, his hand going toward his breast. 
But quick as was the movement, quicker was the outward 
flash of Carroll’s right hand ; and its grasp closed over the 
gambler’s wrist like a vice. A powerful man, with the 
added strength of desperation, he struggled fiercely to 
wrench himself away ; but the firm, white fingers of the 
trained athlete hid muscles of steel, and his grasp held. 

“ I don’t want a scene here,” Carroll said coolly, as Hardy 
glared with eyes red with rage into his bright blue ones. 
“ It would be a pleasure to buff you, you blackguard ; but 
our rules forbid. You have a knife in your breast, but I 
warn you ; if you try to draw it, I’ll kill you like a dog ! ” 

With a quick twist of his wrist he threw Hardy away 
from him ; almost with the same motion drawing an English 
bull-dog from his pocket. For Courtenay Carroll was too 
good an American to neglect a custom, quite national and 
more than encouraged by the makers and executors of laws, 
in this rather too free country. 

The gambler’s bravado left him. With sullen and sud- 
denly brutalized face, he dropped his hands and growled : 

“ Go on ! You’ve got the age. What do you want 
of me?” 

‘ ‘ That you take yourself off and disgrace the Orphic Club 
no more,” Van Borst said quietly. “ Has he robbed any of 
you to-night ? ” he added, to Goldy. 

“A trifle only,” the broker answered. “ Here’s his order 
for one thousand ; he has a couple more in his pocket, and 
Carroll owes him twenty-five hundred in ” 

But before he finished, Hardy had thrust his hands in his 
pockets and tossed notes and gold coin upon the table by the 
handful. 

“There, curse you!” he muttered, with the gamester- 
fatalist’s ever-dogged acceptance of Kismet. “ You’ve 


STILL ON WATCH. 


179 


trapped me to steal back your losings ! There’s every dollar 
I have. I had a fifty when I came ! ” 

“ Take it and go ! ” Carroll said. “ It’s a cheap riddance 
of you, even if you are lying ! ” 

And Hardy, without reply, twitched a bill from the pile ; 
left the room, and passed rapidly to the street. 

And Will Browne followed swiftly through the darkness ! 





i So 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


WAITING ! 


The breakfast bell woke Juny from heavy sleep the 


morning after the visit from the Octoroon. Worn out with 
excitement and watching for Will, she had at last thrown 
herself upon the bed; and the healthy nerves of twenty 
years had soon dominated outside anxieties and borne her off 
into those realms of profound rest, lying far beyond dream- 
land. 

With first opening eyes, however, the present and its 
demands came back vividly to her ; and, hastity arranging 
her toilet, she crossed to Will's door and knocked. No 
answer came to the repeated summons ; and, opening the 
door timidly, the girl saw the room empty and the bed 
untouched. t 

For a moment all sorts of wild ideas trooped to her brain ; 
that Will was in danger ; perhaps had been trapped by the 
blacklegs, even murdered ! Then her healthy common sense 
and firm reliance on the young man’s ability to protect him- 
self, came back ; and she crossed to Gus’ room, only to find 
that vacant, too. So she descended to a quiet breakfast 
table, every one seeming wrapped in personal thoughts ; and, 
after an almost silent meal, the two girls passed into the 
library. 

“Has any one called Wilmot ? ” Mrs. Browne asked, as 
they were leaving the table. 

“ He is not here, Aunt Browne,” Juny answered at once, 
taking the bull by both horns. ‘ ‘ Last evening he told me 
he would spend the night out ! ” 


WAITING / 


i8r 


Told / Most unconventional confidence to a young 
lady, with his mother in the house ! Well, young people’s 
manners and customs, nowadays, are very different from 
those before poor Browne came for me ! ” 

Juny made no reply ; but in the library safely, she closed 
the door and said bluntly : 

“ I told a lie, Gus ! I don’t know where Will is, and I’m 
just worried to death ! ” 

“What’s your worry to mine? ” Gus answered. “ I have 
to go on the excursion to-day with M. A. and oh ! if he 
should find out about me and that dreadful, low gambler ! ” 

Juny was in the window curtains, peering anxiously down 
the avenue. Not turning she answered : 

“ Oh ! Why don't Will come ! If I am dragged on that 

excursion before seeing him I can not — will not go 

until I see him ! ” And she felt in her bosom for the letter 
she knew was from Miles. 

“ And I’m sure,” Gus said, “when he does come he’ll 
have something awfully exciting to say ” 

“ Exciting ! ” Juny turned staring. “ Why did Will tell 
you ” 

“Will? Nonsense!” Gus returned. “I was speaking 
of Michael Angelo ! ” 

“ Oh ! bother Michael Angelo ! ” 

“No, I shan’t ! ” Gus answered resolutely. “ I’ll just be 
awfully crimp to him.” 

Juny turned to the window again with a deep sigh and 
strained her eyes for Will. Evidently there was no help in 
Gus Browne. She must wait ; and, with every restless turn 
about the room that ended in another longing look down the 
street, she said to herself : 

“ Oh ! won't he get here in time ?” 

Gus buried herself behind a newspaper, but never moved 
her eyes from the first line. Juny, too restless to sit, wan- 


182 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


dered up and down the room. This suspense brought back 
to her mind the scene in the Shiners’ Gap. Every detail 
came up clear ; and she could see the evil, threatening face 
of the gambler as he aimed his pistol. It was close work 
then — not a minute to spare ! What if a minute now should 
lose her the chance to give Will the old gambler’s letter ! 
And what was in that letter? Could it be a bold ruse to 
throw him off the trail ; or was it some real light thrown on 
those mysterious papers ? And what could they be ; and, 
perhaps, once lost 

“ Oh ! Will at last!” she cried, turning at a step in the 
hall ; checking herself as Colonel Baylor entered, and mut- 
tering contemptuously, “Pshaw! I’m getting real 

nervous ! ” 

“ Your aunt says you must be ready punctually at twelve, 
my little girl,” the old gentleman said, fondly stroking her 
hair. “And you know she doesn’t like to be kept waiting.” 

“ I’ll go and look over my costume,” Gus said lazily. “ It 
isn’t one bit crimp to rush, you know. And mamma has 
the sweetest temper — when nothing crosses it ! ” And she 
lounged gracefully off to prepare for final conquest of the 
Art Evolutionist. 

“ Why, dad, you look really serious. Is there anything 
the matter?” Juny asked, taking the colonel’s hand gently. 
“Oh! can he suspect about those men?” she added to 
herself. 

“Nothing really is the matter; only a bad night, I suppose,” 
Colonel Baylor answered, taking an arm chair and drawing 
the girl to a stool by his side. “ East night, my daughter, 
I dreamed over the whole scene in the shiners’ camp. It 
was vivid as reality; the flight, our journey northward ; my 
adoption of you. Suddenly I seemed to be looking over the 
edge of a frightful precipice. Something dear to me was 
falling down — down ! Then, as I stared into the black gulf, 


WAITING! 


183 

a faint wail floated up from below — ‘ Dad ! Save me ! ’ and 
the eyes that met mine, through the darkness, were yours ! 
Then the eyes faded into the abyss and the echo of the voice 
grew fainter — died away !” 

Juny had risen with a shudder. Now she threw herself 
on his breast with a half sob. 

“ Oh ! can it be an omen? ” she thought. But she con- 
trolled herself, and looking up with a smile, said : “Why, dad, 
that was only a nightmare, from Aunt Browne’s papers, 
perhaps. Bet me banish the blues with a bright song.” 

The girl turned away ; then she paused and said : 
“Somehow, I can not sing to-day. But, oh ! dad, only 
yesterday I told Will — every day I tell myself — that for you 
I’d give — my life ! ” 

“ I know that, my darling ! ” the old man answered, with 
his hand on her bright hair. “ But, thank God ! you will 
never again be called to risk it for me. But, Juny, my 
child, you really like Will ? ” 

“Like him! Why, dad, of course I do!” A bright 
flush mounted to the girl’s face and she walked quickly to 
the window again. “Oh! I do wish I could see him 
coming ! ” 

“ So you really long to have him here ? ” 

“ Indeed — indeed I do!” Juny answered absently. “It 
seems an age since he left — I mean — ” 

“ My daughter, you are really fond of him? ” 

Juny turned full to him, her blue eyes frankly meeting 
his a moment. Then they fell to the ground ; but the low 
voice was as firm as sweet, in which .she answered : ‘ ‘ Oh ! dad, 
I am more than fond of him ! I trust him ! I love him ! ” 
“ Thank God ! for I am sure he loves you ! ” 

And Washington Clay, appearing in the doorway, beheld 
a pretty tableau as the beautiful woman fell into the arms 
the old man held out to her. 


1 84 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


“Jesso, Morse Randof, jesso,” he said, after a warning 
cough. “ De missus say as how yo’ an’ Missy Juny better 
be makin’ yo’ perforations fur de skurshun party.” 

“She is right, my child,” the colonel said, glancing at 
the clock. “ It is after eleven; and a moment’s delay would 
spoil sister’s temper for the day.” And again kissing her, 
he left the room. 

“ De boss is kerek, sho’s yo’ born, Missy Juny,” Wash 
said. “ Da’ ole lady doan stan’ no foolishin’, ’cepen’ she’ll 
raise yo’ har ! ” 

Juny was at the window peering down the avenue. She 
turned suddenly to the negro : 

“Oh ! Uncle Wash, I must see Mr. Will before we go ! 
You must find him for Juny ! Here ! Take this and go and 

find him somewhere ! ” And the girl’s hand trembled 

in her eagerness, as she held out a shining dollar. 

Wash looked at the coin, as though it were a curio, for sev- 
eral seconds. Then he said brokenly : 

“ Wa’ dat, Missy Juny ? Wa’ kin’ o’ ting dat ? Wash kin 
go hunt for Morse Will ; he kin go de hole hog fur de leetle 
gal he holp ter raise. But he can’t do no md ! No, not 
ef yo’ gib him de hole bank ! ” 

He ended with a choked sob, and a tear rolled from his left 
eye and meandered down the promontory of his flat nose 
into the valley of its nostril. Juny rushed to him and seized 
his hands : 

“ Forgive me, Uncle Wash ! ” she cried. “ Please forgive 
me ! It was just dog-mean of me to offer it ! But do go 
and hunt for Will ! Please go, right off! ” 

“I’se gwine, Missy Juny! I’se gwine right off,” the old 
negro said, scratching his head. “I dunno ware ter look; 
but I’se gwine. Dis yere’s a oncommon large town ; but I’se 
gwine ter fin’ him ef he ent loss ! ” 


A GIRL'S RESOL 1 7s. 


185 


CHAPTER XXYI. 

A GIRI/S RESOLVE. 

Wash passed slowly from the room and to the front door, as 
Juny — forgetful alike of her aunt and the conventions — ran 
again to the bay window and peered anxiously down the 
avenue. But she was stopped by the negro’s voice, coming 
from the open door in angry tones : 

“Git out, yo’ yung debble ! Wa’ yo’ doin’ yeah? Yo’ 
got no bizness ’mong wite fokes, sho’s yo’ born ! Got wot f 
Den gib it yeah ! Gib it ter me ! ” And slamming the door 
in the boy’s face, Clay re-entered the library. 

“ Look a-yeah, Missy Juny, da’ onplesunt young boy say 
wot Morse Will don’ sen’ dis ” 

‘ ‘ Will f Give it me, quick!” cried the girl, seizing the 
note and rushing to the window. “Ru?i, Uncle Wash, quick 
and stop that boy ! He must find Will for me ! Quick ! 
Don’t lose him ! ” 

Off rushed the old negro, as Juny tore open the scribbled 
note, reading : 

“On His track. Dare not lose sight of him. Make some 
excuse to mamma.” 

The girl dropped into a chair, with blanched face and 
hands pressed hard to her bosom, as she cried : 

“ Oh! heaven ! Unless I get Miles’ note to him, he may 
make some fatal error ! Yet, dare I send it ? Can I risk its 
loss?” 

She took the brown envelope from her bosom, tore it open 
and staggered against the window, wide-eyed with amaze, 
as she read : 


i86 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


£ ‘ Raise tiles , second floor of red farm-house , and secure 
X. H. forgeries . Will be there noon to-morrow 

With hands pressed upon her temples, Juny reread the 
words, ‘ ‘ noon to-morrow ; ” and the old gambler had sent the 
note the previous night. There must be importance in the 
hour ; else he had not named it ; and who so likely to 
remove the papers as the Coyote himself ? Yet, Will wrote 
that he was on the Coyote’s track ; would not lose sight of 
him. Could this be a blind ; a decoy ? No ; the shrewd old 
gambler had written names ! Suddenly an idea flashed into 
her mind. This was the secret between her aunt and Miles ! 
But it died away as she remembered the gambler’s insolence 
and scoffing tone. 

Walking the floor rapidly, with these thoughts crowding 
each other in her brain, Juny’s face grew quiet and resolved ; 
and she sat at the desk and drew paper toward her, with a 
quiet but brave smile upon her lips. Writing rapidly, she 
folded Miles’ letter in her note ; sealing it securely. 

“That for Will ! ” she said, as the front door opened and 
Wash peered cautiously into the hall. 

He knew his companion would not be strongly approved 
of by Mrs. Browne ; but the coast was clear and he ushered 
Larry into the library. 

“ Oh ! Larry Miggs ! ” Juny cried. “Where is he — Will — 
Captain Browne ! Why don’t you answer ? I mean the 
gentleman that gave you this note ? ” 

“Oh — him ?” Larry answered. “ Wy, me leddy ! he 
warn’t no Browne. That note was give ter me by Kuril’ 1 
de la Plata ! ” 

“Who? a tall, black-looking man, with ” 

“ ‘Not so, upon my hollow dome, yer grace ’! ” quoted 
Larry. “ Th’ Kurn’l is a blonde, mos’ ‘fair as thee, fair 
Egyp ’ ; and he’s got a brown merstach an’ brown eyes. ” 


A GIRL’S RESOL VE. 


IS? 

“What do you mean?” the girl asked anxiously. Pos- 
sible plots and counterplots rose to her suspicions. The boy 
described Will ; but named the Coyote. 

“ Who gave you this note ? ” she asked. 

“ He did ; ther Kurn’l. ‘ Meself and miserly knows ther 
man ’ ! ” Tarry answered. 

“Where did he get it?” the girl again asked, looking 
straight into the boy’s fearless eyes. 

“ Wy, he writ it ! I seed him meself.” 

“ You are sure of that ? ” Juny again asked. 

“Cert, me lady! yer may emphasize!” Master Miggs 
said, standing his cross-examination bravely. “But yer 
cert’ny do ask questions. He writ that note at Cap’n Hunter 
Beagle’s desk an’ give ’t ter me with his own hands.” 

“ It certainly is his writing,” Juny said. “And you are 
sure of the man who gave it ? ’ ’ 

“I’d swear it fore the ‘portants, graves an’ reverent 
signers’, ” Tarry answered solemnly. “ It was give ter me 
by Kurn’l de la Plata himself.” 

“And who is Captain Hunter Beagle?” Juny once more 
queried. 

“ The boss detective, he is,” Tarry answered. “ He’s the 
kind as knows a man may take his smile an’ be a willain ! ’ ’ 

A sudden light broke into Juny’s mind. The writing 
surely was Will’s. The boy seemed honest and swore the 
writer gave it to him ; and Kyle Hardy would never have 
been at the detective’s desk. For some reason Will had 
taken the felon’s name, at least to this boy. 

‘ ‘ Can you take the same man a reply ? ” she asked. 

“ Well, ma’am, I kin try,” he answered promptly. “ But 
he told me he might be here as soon as I was. He’s leff 
Cap’n Beagle’s, sure ! ” 

And again Juny clasped her hands and murmured : “ Too 
late ! He’ll be too late ! ” 


1 88 


JUNY. OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


Just then the clock chimed and Juny, glancing up, saw it 
was quarter to twelve. 

“ Call me a cab ; quick , Uncle Wash ! ” she cried. “ Don’t 
lose a minute ! I’ll meet you at the corner ! ” 

As the old negro ran out to obey, she again seized the pen 
and wrote rapidly ; and while she wrote, a sweet, sad smile 
hovered about her lips. 

“Here, Tarry,” she said, handing him the first note. 
“ That man will come here soon. Watch for him, but do 
not be seen except by Uncle Wash ! Give him this note the 
instant he comes ! ” She drew him to the bay window and 
pushed him down behind the curtains : ‘ ‘ Mind ! do not be 

seen ! ” - Then turning, she placed the last note conspicuously 
upon the lamp shade on the center table. 

“ That for dear old dad,” she said. “ And now, to save 
him ! There is one chance left and I’ll take that! I’m only 
a girl, but, with God’s help, I’ll beat the Coyote — or die /” 




DRESS REHEARSAL. 


189 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

DRESS REHEARSAL,. 

The clock struck twelve as Wash remounted the steps of 
the Browne mansion, looking over his shoulder and shaking 
his head. But wisdom should look before ; and had his done 
so, he had not bumped into Mr. Michael Angelo Lake, about 
to pull the bell. 

“’Scuse me, boss! Lor’ gorry ! Wa’ dat!” Wash cried, 
as a puff of wind raised the long, light duster conceal- 
ing the Evolutionist’s study in aquatic costumes. And a 
wonderful result he had evolved ; a sickly green shirt with 
ample rolling collar, disappearing into pale grey knicker- 
bockers, which in turn gave place to blue stockings and 
brown canvas shoes. Then Wash waved the visitor in with 
much ceremony, just as Mrs. Browne joined her brother and 
Gus in the hall. 

“Your promptitude is commendable, sir,” Mrs. Browne 
said coolly to the visitor. 1 ' I regard punctuality a conven- 
tion to be strictly observed.” 

“Thanks ! ” responded the Evolutionist. “And I hope my 
little effort in costume is equally as welcome as my arrival.” 

“Doubtless,” responded the Roman mother of society 
briefly. “Juniata!” 

There was no answer ; and the colonel entered the library, 
as Washington fled to the dining-room with eyes wildly roll- 
ing toward the head of the house. 

“ I do hope you like me, Miss Gustine,” Lake said. 

“Oh! Mr. Lake,” simpered the girl. 

“I mean — my little costume, of course,” he explained. 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


I90 

“ Oh ! its just too awfully crimp for anything,” gushed his 
pupil in art. 

“ Juny is not here,” the colonel said from the library. 

“ She should remember,” answered Mrs. Browne, in the 
doorway, “ that she is now in society ; and punctuality is one 
of its cardinal virtues.” 

“Bless the girl! where is she!” her brother answered. 
“ Perhaps in her room. I’ll call her.” 

“/did so as I came down— Juniata ! " and Mrs. Browne 
called, toward the drawing-room. 

But the colonel saw the note on the lamp and took it up. 

“Bless me! what’s this? A note from her!’’ And he 
read aloud: “‘Don't be uneasy , dearest dad. Will and I 

have started. We will beat you all to Browne Beach 

Well! That’s odd.” 

“ It is worse than ‘odd,’ brother Randolph,” Mrs. Browne 
retorted severely. “It is sufficiently unconventional to be 
scandalous ! ” 

“ Why, she is perfectly safe with Will, sister.” 

“ Possibly,” she answered dryly. “ But with such ideas, 
she will never acquire proper style in society.” 

“ If she doesn’t,” the colonel said curtly, “she has some- 
thing far better than style ! ” 

“Brother Randolph! ” There was a world of wondering 
reproof in the tone. 

“ She has a true woman’s heart,” he went on ruthlessly. 

“ That will keep her safe in a far better place than 

society ! ” 

“ Better place ! ” Mrs. Browne echoed feebly. 

“Yes, in the heart of the lucky fellow who makes her his 
wife ! ” 

There being no answer to such heresy, the matron at- 
tempted none; but Gus, catching only the last words, 
gushed : 


DRESS REHEARSAL. 


I 9 I 

“ A wedding, Uncle Ran ! Oh ! I just dote on weddings ; 
and Juny’s would be just too eminently crimp for anything ! ” 
“Augustine ! restrain that unconventional exhuberance,” 
reproved the mother, Roman once more. But she added, 
half to herself, ‘ ‘ I have really been so upset in the past two 
days, that I scarcely know whether I was born in Colepeper 
Court House, Virginia, or in Topeka, Kansas ! ” 

“But you know,” Gus confided, sotto voce , to Lake, “I 
do think weddings are just — crimp ! ” 

“Ah ! You know / do, Miss Gustine,” he answered. 
“And there is one particular wedding into which I could 
concentrate the whole palpitating soul of my Art for evolu- 
tion of the decorations ; could coerce the dimly-gray dra- 
peries to pulsate impalpably in trained unison to the unheard 
harmonies of heart and neutral tint ! ” 

“Brother, the carriage is waiting,” Mrs. Browne broke in 
severely. “As we have not your daughter to wait for, we 
will defer house decoration and catch the next train ! Come, 
Augustine ! ” 

And as the door banged and the liveried footman clung to 
his perch, Washington Clay followed his bulging eyes from 
the dining-room to the bay window of the library. 

“Jesso, jesso!” he muttered. “ Dere dey goes, ’thout 
Missy Juny ! Dese is quar doin’s, sho’s yo’ born. Come 
out yeah, yo’ onpleesunt boy.” And he drew back the 
curtains, showing Larry crouched in tragic pose. 

“Say, snowball ! This is a boss rehearsal, yer may bet yer 
bones ! This is my castile of Ru -ell, three leagues from 
whence ! Ha ! ha ! ‘ The Liar’s skin’s too short ter night ! 

I’ll eat it out with the forkses ! ’ How’s that fur de boss 
Reecher-Zcw f ” 

“Looka yeah, boy, is yo’ dun gone crazy? Missy Juny 
tell me let yo’ stay yeah tell Morse Will dun cum back. 
’Spos’n’ Morse Will don’ never cum back, how Wash gwyne 


192 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


ter ’bey dem obstructions ? Yah — yah — ye — ah! I tell yo, 
old niggahs liab de debble ob a time, when dey gits in fust 
Virginny famlys, an’ try to hole up dere eend in — sassiety ! 
Hard times, sho’s yo’ born ! ” 

And shuffling about the room, the black sang : 

“ Hoein’ in de cornfiel’, cuttin’ shuggah cane ; 

Wukkin’ in de suushin’, wukkin’ in de rain ; 

Wukkin’ like de debble fur mitey leetle 
P A V /” 

“Brayvo! Otheller ! Ankor!” Larry cried, applauding 
wildly. “ Yer’re engaged! Jest step roun’ to t’ agency, sign 
yer papers and draw yer fust week’s salery in adwance ! ” 

“ Looka year, yo’ boy ! Yo’ jes stay quiet tell Morse Will 
com’, sho’s yo’ born !” 

With bent back and slavering lips, Larry glared at the 
negro ; darting a stiff forefinger at him as he cried : 

“ ‘ Thou liest ! I am old, infirm, most free bill, but thou 

liest /’ Kerect, Erdolfus! Never min’ stayin’ ter enter- 
tain me ! Yer kin leave ! ” he added, with magnificent gest- 
ure to the door. And as Clay, with access of outraged dig- 
nity threatening apoplexy, moved toward it, Larry stopped 
him : “Sa-a-y ! Hen-nev-ree Clay, ’fore yer fust appearance, 
ye jest git some burnt cork an’ make up fur a blonde ! ” 
When the negro slammed the door in great disgust, Larry 
moved slowly about the room, smacking his lips as he exam- 
ined the rich decorations and tried the springs of chair after 
chair. At last, throwing himself full length on a sofa, his 
admiration vented in a long, low whistle : 

“Phew! Well, this is style! An’ I’m a fixtur here ter 
wait for that Juny’s beau-feller. Well, wot a pair o’ eyes 
that gal has got, yer may spekerlate ! ” 

“ ‘Larry!’ says she, ‘remain until Will Browne comes 
an’ give him this anser, on yer life ! ’ Maybe I won't 


DRESS REHEARSAL. 


remain. Maybe I won't give him the note — yer may 
liquedate ! ” 

Then, urged by his lost sleep of the previous night, Mr. 
Miggs began to doze off ; suddenly aroused by the entrance 
of Wash and Will Browne. 

“Yeah be Morse Will, sho’s yo’ born!” Wash cried in 
great excitement. “ Missy Juny, ge’en him de anser ter dat 
note ! ” 

“ Not fur yer, Mister ! ” Larry had sprung to his feet in 
attitude of defiance. “ This yere note’s not fur Kur’nel de 
la Plata !” 

“ Oh ! That was an error,” Will said, suddenly recollect- 
ing, “ I am Captain Will Browne.” 

“ Jesso, boy ; jesso ! ” put in Clay. “ Dis yere Morse Will, 
sho nuff ! ” 

“ But, where is Juny ? ” Will cried. 

‘ ‘ Gone ! Skedaddled ! Tuk ther start on ’em all an’ 
played it alone ! As Davy Mayo says, wen he’s Frank 
Crockett, ‘ Fur a lugger in love an’ a duster in wah, she’ll 
wed the fair Ellen or young Lochin-vah ! ’ ” 

“What do you mean, boy?” Will asked sharply. 

“‘I’m munchin’ Malagas. I means mischief!’” Larry 
answered dramatically. “Yere! See fur y’ self;” and he 
handed the note Juny left. 

Will tore it open, reading with hungry eyes : 

“ ‘ Enclosed is the note Old Jackpots sent last night. 1 
opened and read it. I have gone for those papers. I will get 
them or die ! ’ ” 

Will opened the second paper, muttering : “What can she 
mean? — ‘ forgery — second-story — old farm ’ — My God ! What 
rashness ! She may meet those villains ! There is yet 

time ! Another train at ” The cuckoo clock chimed 

out the hour. The man dropped into a chair “And 

I have missed it !” 


13 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


194 ‘ 

Larry, standing by in deep sympathy, covered it by a wink 
at Wash. Then, softly patting his own accompaniment, he 
sang: 

“ It’ll never do to gib it up so, Mr. Browne, 

It’ll never do to gib it up so ! 

“ Say, guv’ner ! ’Tain’t no use a-settin’ thar ! Git up an’ 
dust! Ther’s another train at 12:30. We kin ketch that. 
Maybe / knows ther coal-heaver — an’ I’ll interjuice yer ! ” 

“ All right ! ” Will cried, jumping up. “ You come along, 
too ! ” 

“ Yer may kalkilate ! ” Larry answered, holding the door 
open. “Ye jis’ take the lead an’ I’ll support yer to the 
queen’s taste ! We’ll jest gib Juny a benefit, in a comberna- 
skun ! ” 


A MORNING ALARM. 


195 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

A MORNING ARARM. 

• When Kyle Hardy slunk from the Orphic Club, his fort- 
unes seemed at the lowest ebb. Detected, dismissed, with 
all chance of recuperation gone, the stern fatalism of his 
craft still clung to him. 

“By Luck ! ” he said to himself, with a bitter laugh, “ that 
was a tough call of the cat-hop. I was a cool five thousand 
ahead ! Well, I’m fifty ahead anyway, as interest for hold- 
ing their cash. Wonder if I can’t double that at Mike’s?” 

And turning eastward, Hardy strode rapidly off; made 
several turns and finally halted in front of a shabby door 
and pulled the bell. 

Will Browne, following him on the opposite side, saw a 
small shutter in the door slide back and a face peer curious- 
ly out, before it opened and Hardy disappeared. 

“ A faro dive ! ” Will said to himself. “ I suppose it’s a 
daylight job now ! ” And he lit a fresh cigar, seated him- 
self on a dry goods box and prepared to stay on picket in- 
definitely, just as the clock of the near-by church chimed 
four. 

Meantime, his faithful ambassador, Larry Miggs, was 
keeping similar vigil at St. Mark’s Place. Beagle’s mother 
had no idea when he would return ; and Larry, true to his 
instructions to give the note into the detective’s own hand, 
said he would wait awhile. Dozing on the steps, with oc- 
casionally a start at stray passers, he was still asleep when 
Will Browne turned from Second avenue ; saw Kyle Hardy 
stagger up his steps ; and then crossed and saw Larry. 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


196 

“What does this mean?” he asked, shaking the boy. 
“Didn’t you give him my note ? ” 

The boy yawned, stretched himself and answered with a 
shake of the head : 

“ Nope ! Ain’t come home yit. 

“ That’s odd ! ” Will said half to himself. “ It’s strange 
he’d take all night.” 

“Kerect, Kurn’l,” Larry said. “Ain’t you been out all 
night, too ? ” 

“’See the old lady? ” Will asked shortly. 

11 Urn! urn!” Larry responded. “She’s a lily of the 
wally, yer may rumernate ! I think I’ll engage her to play 
Julee dee Mortimere to my Reecher-/c><?. ” 

He stopped suddenly, as the door opened and the yellow 
ochre statue — like Memnon, vocal at sunrise — gritted out : 

“Don’t have a circus outside, Browne. Better come in.” 
And holding open the door of the office, .she admitted them, 
not without a most suspicious glance at Will Browne’s some- 
what demoralized evening toilet. 

“ Up all night? ” Mrs. Beagle queried ; and as Will nodded 
affirmatively, she added : “ Shadow ? ” Again Will nodded ; 
upon which the ochre softened sufficiently to vouchsafe : 

“ Tough work ! Like some coffee ? ” 

“ Yer may rumernate, mad -am! ” Larry answered prompt- 
ly ; “ seeing as neither of us has tetched food since yestidday 
noon ! Hot and strong fur two, ef yer please ! ’ ’ And he 
winked at Browne ; adding, as the old woman left the room : 

“ ’Scuse my stat <t-ment, Kurn’l ; but ef yer ain’t fly fer the 
swill, I’ll jist surround both cups.” 

Without reply Will went to the window, turned the blinds 
and sat down to watch Hardy’s front door. Little chance, 
there seemed to him, that the gambler would come out for a 
while ; for he had been under strain all night, and appeared 
somewhat the worse for liquor, too. Will was sure he had 


A MORNING ALARM. 


I 9 7 

the papers, and equally sure that he could not have left them 
at the gambling den. % he felt that he must take no possi- 
ble chance for Hardy to give him the slip. 

That Beagle had not returned puzzled him greatly ; for, 
assured as he must be of the passage of the papers, there 
was no great point to gain in shadowing Tip Miles. 

Will Browne drank his coffee with brief thanks, and 
returned to watch Hardy’s door. Tver and again he looked 
impatiently at his watch ; eight— nine— ten o’clock passing, 
yet no Beagle in sight. 

“ Tarry,” Will said at last, “ you know where I live ? ” 

“ Cross the street,” the boy answered. “ Were I gin yer 
ther note yestiddy.” 

“ I mean you know where Captain Wilmot Browne lives?” 

“ Were I took ther note from th’ nigger? Cert! Kurn’l. 
Yer can gamble Tarry never furgits.” 

Will sat and wrote the hasty line to Juny ; gave it to the 
boy with strict injunctions to put it in her hands only. 

Scarcely had Tarry left, when the amateur detective, sitting 
at the window, was startled by the sharp report of a pistol 
ringing through the narrow street. He leaned against the 
bowed shutter and listened. Then a window of Hardy’s 
house opened, and a woman’s voice loudly called : 

“Police! Hel-lp! Murder!” 

In an instant Browne was at the front door ; but the yellow 
ochre statue was before him, with her hand upon the latch. 

“ Hunter’s tenants! ” she said. “ Be discreet ! ” 

Browne stared at her without reply ; dashed into the street 
and crossed toward the sounds, as several others did at the 
same moment. 

But a cab drew up at the door, Captain Beagle jumped 
out before it stopped and, mounting the steps, waved them 
all back : “ I am Detective Hunter Beagle,” he said, “and 

am sent by the chief to take charge of this house. I only 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


I9S 

want one man,” he added, catching sight of Will Browne. 

‘ ‘ This gentleman will do ! ” 

The growing crowd grumbled, as crowds will ; but Beagle 
opened the door, entered the house and closed it after him. 

Browne had only time to note that the detective had 
changed his dress completely, from the night before, even to 
his hat ; and that there was something peculiarly dogged 
about him, very different from his usual jaunty ease. But 
before he could note more they were up stairs, in the room 
whence the cries proceeded. As they entered, Beagle mut- 
tered : 

‘ ‘ Great God ! Has he murdered her ? ” 

Tili was extended across the bed, motionless and lying on 
her face ; and in the limp right hand was loosely held a 
revolver ; the odor of burnt powder still heavy on the air. 
The old quadroon had thrown herself by her child, the 
withered arm around her, and with wild words of endear- 
ment and entreaty. 

No one else was in the room ; and with quickness of 
thought Browne twitched the revolver from the little hand 
and sprang into the hall again. 

“I’ll search the house! ” he cried to Beagle ; and running 
down stairs he locked both doors inside, removing the keys ; 
searched the parlor and dining-room and again passed up 
stairs. Hardy was not in the house, unless concealed, and 
again Browne went through every closet, and under every 
curtain. He had not gone through the front door, plainly ; 
and looking from the back window, through the little paved 
yard, Browne saw the green wicket in the rear wall ajar. 

Beagle had lifted up the old quadroon, who still struggled 
hysterically ; then turned the graceful form of the daughter 
over on her back. As he did so, the lips moved in a heavy 
sigh ; and the hardened detective kneeling by her, with 
finger on her pulse, murmured : “ Thank God ! She lives ! ” 


A MORNING ALARM. 


I99 


There was no sign of blood ; but the trained eye, following 
the direction of the pistol, saw a large hole* freshly torn in 
the plaster. 

“ She’s not hurt,” he said to Browne as he entered. “ Fired 
the shot herself. Must have been defending herself against 
that brute ! ” 

“He has escaped through the back alley,” Browne an- 
swered. “ Who is the woman ? ” 

“Don’t know,” Beagle answered promptly. “His wife, 
probably. Help me revive her.” 

“ But I must find him ! ” Browne said. “ I haven’t lost 
sight of him since he got those papers ” 

‘‘He didn’t get them,” Beagle answered. ‘‘Hardy and 
Jackpots are to meet for delivery to-day at two o’clock ” 

‘ ‘Are you sure ? Where ? ” 

“Sure? Am I ever uncertain ? ” Beagle answered, as he 
twitched some feathers from the duster and burned them 
under Dili’s nose. “ They meet at Browne Beach. Miles 
leaves the station at two o’clock sharp and / go with him as 
his detective.” 

“You! Browne Beach !” Will Browne exclaimed. “Why, 
uncle, mamma and all our party go there ! They’ll spoil 
everything ! I must try and stop them ! ” And without 
waiting reply, he dashed down stairs, en route for home. 

Beagle had no idea of letting Browne know the ridiculous 
part he had played in the night’s adventures ; and, after all, 
as Miles really had made the engagement, he would be apt 
to carry it out. He could not have communicated with 
Hardy meantime, as Browne had kept the latter in sight. 
Hardy would be likely to go to the Sound, after the domestic 
fracas, to get out of town and let the excitement blow over. 
Therefore, Beagle thought, it was well for every reason to 
have the Browne party stopped ; and he would be on hand 
at the depot, to get even with his recent captor. 


200 JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 

Thus satisfied, he again turned to the fainting woman, 
now partly recovered and striving to collect her thoughts. 
Tib’s eyes fell upon Beagle’s face. 

“Ah! Monsieur Jonson ! ” she cried. “ Inhere? How 
good — how kind of you ! Ah ! your warning was true ! I 
have” — she hesitated a moment, then went on with confi- 
dent trust — “ seen her ; I have been there ! ” 

Then the detective, still holding the slim, white hand very 
tenderly, listened while L,ili told her story, which may be 
better understood in fewer words. 





A BRUTE'S DEMAND. 


201 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

• a brute’s demand. 

Kyle Hardy reeled from the faro den without a dollar ; his 
head whirling with bad brandy ; his heart black with rage 
at his luck and hatred of his kind. 

Only one resolve was in his mind — the woman, who had so 
faithfully and unflinchingly followed his fortunes, should 
now sacrifice everything for his last desperate effort to recoup 
them. 

She had diamonds, given by her father — th’e gambler 
reflected — and he might raise the money on them from 
Schonstein, should his bad luck still follow and force him to 
pay for the papers Miles held, instead of having them by 
fraud, or even force, as he still designed. 

For those papers he must have now ; even did he have to 
do murder to get them ! They must be shown at Wash- 
ington, the reward secured, and himself out of the country 
before the week ended. And after all, he thought doggedly, 
they were his by right ! 

Thus thinking — but with nerves shattered by the excite- 
ment and the bad brandy he had swallowed to allay it — 
Hardy lurched into his own room, set the alarm clock at ten, 
then threw himself, half-dressed, upon his bed and was soon 
in deep, uneasy sleep. 

His heavy breathing sounded through the still house ; and, 
listening to it long and restlessly, Lili opened her door and 
glided across the hall. For a moment she hesitated, then 
opened the door noiselessly, stood by the bedside and looked 
down with burning eyes upon the sleeper. 


202 


JUNY; OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


The girl was very pale ; the clear oval of her cheeks 
stained with long weeping ; but, with hands pressed hard 
upon her heaving bosom, she forced herself to calmness. 

Long and steadily she gazed down upon the now hardened 
and brutalized features of the man, whose far different aspect 
had won her young heart to yield its all to him. 

Gradually her face softened with those memories ; and — 
impulsive as all her race are ever — she sunk upon her knees 
by the bedside ; her face hidden in the shadow of her loose, 
black hair ; her forehead bowed upon the hot and feverish 
hand of the only man she had ever loved. 

Then, from the wrung heart of the erring but gentle 
woman, a petition went up to the Throne’s foot, for for- 
giveness to her own wrong doing ; for pity and mercy to her 
wronger. And may it not have floated upward, as pure and 
as acceptable, as though it had arisen from fashion’s most 
favored fane ! 

At last she rose ; her face sad and deadly pale, but calm 
resolve stamped strong upon it. 

“And so, farewell, Kyle!” she whispered. “May He 
forgive ; and help us both to better lives ! ” 

And great drops of gentle pity— for herself and for him— 
rose to the eyes ; one overflowing, as she leaned above the 
sleeper, and dropping lightly on his hot forehead. 

With a start, the man awoke ; sitting bolt upright and 
thrusting his hand instinctively under his pillow. " Then, 
waking fully, he recognized the woman and, seizing her 
arm, tried roughly to draw her down by his side. 

With changed face and all her strength, she resisted ; 
striving to free her wrist from his grasp. 

Why, what’s the matter, sweetheart ? ” he said. “I 
was just dreaming of you ! Come ; sit here and let me tell 
you all about it.’’ 

“ No, no ! not now ! Let me go, please ! ” she cried. 


A BRUTE'S DEMAND. 


203 


“Not till you buy your release, sweetheart!” he an- 
swered ; throwing his arm round her waist and trying to 
draw her to him. 

‘ ‘ Let me go ! Please let me go ! ” she repeated, strug- 
gling. “You must ! you shall ! ” And suddenly wrenching 
herself free, she stood erect by the bedside. 

‘ ‘ Why, what the devil has come to you ? ” he growled, 
staring at her face. “ It’s something new for you to put on 
airs and make me beg for a caress ! ’ ’ 

“ It is something new for me to feel how little value they 
are to you ! ” the woman answered slowly. 

“Come, Lill, let’s be reasonable,” the man answered, 
sitting upon the bed’s edge. ‘ ‘ Besides, that sort of chaff is 
no good, any time ; and just now, I was going to ask a 
favor of you ! ” 

4 4 What favor could you possibly ask of me — now ? ” the 
woman returned coldly. 

“ Well, I’ll tell you, 1411,” Hardy answered rather sheep- 
ishly. He rose and tried to pass his arm about her ; but she 
drew back and stood calmly facing him. 44 You see I’ve had 

a streak of nigger luck and Why, what the devil’s the 

matter with you, girl ? Can’t I even touch you ? ” 

“ Nothing is the matter with me'* Lili answered. “ Go 

on ; what is it you want of me?” 

“Well; as I was saying, the turn has gone dead against 
me ; and now I haven’t a dollar ! A streak of light shows 
to me, if I can only raise the wind. With one thousand 
dollars to-day, I can go to Washington and return with three, 
before to-morrow night ! ” 

“Well, what else?” the girl queried, machine-like. 

The gambler stared at her listless pose and expressionless 
face, as he answered : 

“Why, only this, Lill. I was going to ask if you would 
loan me your jewelry. I can raise the money on it from 


/ 


2Q4 JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 

a friend. Only for a day or two, Idll. You’ll get it 
back.” 

“ 1 do not want it back,” she answered in the same mechan- 
ical way. “What you gave me is yours, and you are 
welcome to it. It is ready for you, now .” 

The manner, even more than the words, made the man 
stare. 

“ Well, you’re wonderfully obliging ! ” he growled in dis- 
content. “Look here, Lill, there’s something behind all 
this gentleness that I don’t understand ; and ” 

“You can understand, very easily,’’ the girl replied ; her 
voice firm, but her face growing deadly white, as she spoke. 
“Come with me, Kyle. I said the jewels were ready for 
you. See ! ” 

She had crossed the hall ; and, with the last word, threw 
open the door of her own bedroom. 

The bed had not been used ; across it lay a few plain 
dresses, while a large trunk, half-packed, stood open near. 

The old quadroon, folding some garment on the bed, 
paused as the pair entered ; glaring at the man with hate-lit, 
bloodshot eyes. 

“ See ! ” the girl repeated. She pointed to the bureau, on 
which all her jewelry — rings, bracelets and ear-drops — stood 
ranged in open cases. 

“There is every jewel you ever gave me,” she said 
gravely ; her voice shaking as she added : ‘ ‘ Even the little 
ring you gave me — on my sixteenth birthday ! All are 
there!’’ 

‘ ‘ What do you mean ? Lib ! how could you know I was 
going to ask you ? ” Hardy cried. 

“I did not know that,’’ she answered gently. “ I only 

knew that they were yours ; that I I am going away ! ” 

Her bosom rose and fell fiercely ; but she controlled her voice ; 


A BRUTE'S DEMAND. 


205 


and her splendid head was held erect, as her eyes calmly met 
the rising rage in his. 

Going away ! Why you must be the dam ” 

She stopped him quietly : “ Do not swear at me ! You have 
done so sometimes, when you may have had the right ; 
when I gave you the right. Now, I have recalled that ! ” 

“ Why you you’re crazy! ” the man cried. 

“No; I have been; but I now am sane, thank God! I 
have sinned all these years, trusting in you ; believing in 
you, next to my belief in the good God ! Now, for the 
first time, I know how false you are ! ” 

“To all but you, Till,” he answered uneasily. “To you, 
I am as true as ” 

“ Do not lie, Kyle Hardy, in the last words you speak to 
me forever ! ’ ’ 

The woman’s quiet, cold reproach struck the gambler’s 
brutal nature like a lash. His face grew purple, as he 
fiercely blurted out : 

“ In the devil’s name ! speak plainly ! ” 

“You asked for the jewels,’’ she answered coldly. “ There 
they are; all of them. And they are all yours ! ” 

“Well, I’m glad something is conceded to be mine,” he 
said brutally ; but he took the trinkets from the cases, drop- 
ping them loosely into his pocket. “All right ; you needn’t 
put on airs ; for I’ll return them within the week.” 

“You can never return them — to me ,” she said, in the 
same cold monotone. “ I shall be far from here ! ’ ’ 

Again Hardy, struck by the iteration, stared at her with 
a dazed glance. Then it wandered to the trunk ; caught the 
old quadroon’s red eyes, and read the hatred in them. 

Then he said brutally : 

“All your jewels are 7iot here. Your solitaires ” 

“ They are not yours,” Lili answered. “ They were given 
my mother by my father ! They are not even mine ! ” 


206 JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 

“ Bosh ! I’ll have no damned sentiment ! ” roared he, 
purposely lashing himself into fury. 4 ‘ Everything you have 
is mine ! I’ve supported you, and that cursed old mulatto, 
for six years now ; and I guess I have the right to borrow a 
couple of diamonds for a day ! ’ ’ 

“ You have all the rest,” Lili answered quietly. 

“And those solitaires are worth double all the rest,” an- 
swered Hardy ; forgetting that he had told her differently 
every time he gave her an off-color stone. “ I want those 
earrings ! Give ’em to me ! ’’ 

“ They are not mine,” Lili repeated, firmly. “ I could not 

give them, even to my husband ! ” 

“And what am I, pray?” the gambler retorted fiercely. 

“No man could be truer husband to ” 

“You lie ! Kyle Hardy ! ’’ the girl cried ; at last losing 
control of her hot Creole temper. “You lie now, to get 
possession of those pitiful stones, as you lied to the child 
you deceived, six years ago ; to the woman who trusted, 
blindly idolized you, ever since ! But now, now that I know 
you, miserable that you are ! I shall see you no more ! ” 
The brutal anger of the man cowered before the wrathful 
swirl of the wronged womanhood that lashed him. 

“Lili! My 'own darling girl!” he protested, “I love 

you this moment, as I always have loved ” 

“Perhaps!” she broke in with infinite scorn. “And I 
know, now , how much that was. Now, I know why you 
insulted my blood last evening ; why you dared lift your hand 
to my mother ! Kyle Hardy, I have — seen her ! ” 

4 ‘ Seen her ! Who ? ’ ’ 

“ Yes ; and warned her ! ” Lili went on hotly. “ Know- 
ing what I knew ; feeling as I felt then, I could not risk her 
suffering as I had ! So I went there with maman ! ” 

“ Damnation ! ” Hardy roared, his eyes blazing and veins 
knotting on his temples. 4 4 Of whom are you talking ? ” 


A BRUTE'S DEMAND. 


207 


“ Of the girl you lied to, as you did to me ! ” I^ili answered, 
never quailing. “ The girl you dared ask to marry you— 
Augustine Browne ! The girl who had spurned you, before 
I told her you were a gambler and, in the sight of God, the 
husband of — the negress ! ” 

With a rage-stifled oath and arm uplifted, Hardy sprang 
toward the girl. 

“ If I believed, I’d break your ” 

The sentence was never finished. Her red eyes fastened 
on his every motion, the old quadroon had stealthily— imper- 
ceptibly— crept around the bed. Now, as the gambler strode 
forward, she gave one savage snarl and leaped before 
him,. a gleaming knife uplifted in her sinewy, lean right 
hand. 

“ Maman ! for God’s sake ! ” L,ili cried, rushing to her. 
‘ ‘ For my sake ! Maman ! ” 

But Hardy caught the glint of the steel just in time. He 
recoiled, the evil gleam of baffled hate in his eyes. Suddenly 
they fell upon a large, keen hatchet L,ili had used on her 
trunk, and, an instant later, it swung above his head ; his 
eyes glowing like some venomous snake’s upon the crouched 
form of the old quadroon. 

“Damn you!” he screamed. “You meddling nigger 
hag ! You set her on to this ! I’ll split your ” 

He stopped in midword, the color dropping from his face, 
the hand swinging the hatchet paralyzed above his head. For 
over the quadroon’s shoulder gleamed the bright barrel of a 
revolver ; and Lili’s eyes — clear and undaunted as those 

“ Of mountain cat, who guards her young,” 

burned into his with fascinating, cowing fire. 

“Move, and I’ll kill you ! ” 

The girl’s words fell clear and strong ; the click of the 
lock, that prefaced them, lending added meaning. 


7 


2 o 8 JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 

‘ ‘ Oh ! Do not make me a murderer ! ” she cried pleadingly. 
“You have made me worse , I know; but now, Kyle, spare 
me — and go ! You shall not harm my mother ! She is all 
I have in this world, now — all I have ! ” 

But as the girl plead so earnestly, the brute courage of the 
man, changing to cunning before the leveled pistol, began to 
return. Slowly he dropped the threatening hand holding 
the hatchet, and tossed it away from him. 

“ Pardon my temper, Mother Duvrai ! ” he cried. “ And 

Dili, poor, wronged child, forgive ” 

The tall, lithe form of the Octoroon shivered ; her face 
twitched under the nervous strain. The man’s words were 
cut short by the loud report of the pistol ; Dili was stretched 
prone across the bed, and the horrified cries of the quadroon 
echoed through the silent street. 





A T BRO VVNE BE A CH. 


209 


CHAPTER XXX. 

AT BROWNE BEACH. 

The Browne Beach farm was a pretty and pleasant-lying 
property ; similar to a dozen others, that combine toy-farm- 
ing with villa luxury, along the waters of the Sound. 

A pretty stretch of fat grain land led up to the residence 
cottage, seated midway between road and water ; while a 
long, winding green lane led, between the fields, straight 
from the road to the old red farm-house, perched close over 
the water’s edge. 

May Bower cottage was a picturesque and rather preten- 
tious villa. In her day, it had been the favorite residence of 
pretty May Baylor, whose Redfern tastes and rearing had 
preferred its pleasant quiet to the rush of city gayety. Since 
her death, in New Orleans, shortly after the war’s close, the 
house had never been occupied. Colonel Baylor had persist- 
ently refused good offers to buy the property, as well as 
propositions to rent, or to work it. He preferred paying a 
manager for simple care of the place ; and— through that 
mysterious connection, which had so distressed Juny — Tip 
Miles had succeeded to that post, immediately after the 
colonel had gone abroad. 

The old card-sharp had proved a practical farmer ; and 
never had the returns from the place, in cereals and truck, 
been half so large as since, in his own words, “ Tip bossed 
the deal.” 

But the most picturesque point in the whole landscape 
was that old, red farm-house ; now almost entirely unused 
and rapidly falling into ruin. Built on a little spur — -jutting 
14 


210 


JUNY : OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


into the Sound and forming its own tiny harbor — the gable of 
this quaint old farm-house jutted far over the water, on sup- 
porting piers ; and its diamond-latticed panes, rarely opened, 
gave a lovely sweep of water-view for miles. Half of the 
house overhung the water ; its front facing the little lane, 
with its low, vine-covered porch and trimly -kept flower patch. 
For in the lower floor, manager Miles had his composite 
counting-room, office and seed-store ; and that he did not 
despise to use it as carpenter-shop also, piles of loose blocks 
and shavings, reaching up to the side windows, testified. 

This was the mooted point of Mrs. Browne’s report to her 
brother ; whether, or not, to pull down the building and 
save the lumber in it, or to let it await the not distant time 
when it would fall of its own motion. 

And from this quaint retreat Tip Miles emerged the morn- 
ing after his escapade with the detective, his face as wooden 
and placid and his manner as quiet and slouching, as though 
he had never held a sequent-flush, or “ held up ” a thief- 
taker in the act. 

Yet Mr. Miles looked rather anxiously at his watch ; then 
less anxiously up the lane. “ ’Leven o’clock an’ all’s well ! ” 
he said to himself, with a grim smile. “ Wonder ef Captain 
Hunter Beagle has got up yet ? That was a pretty bold job ; 
but I kept well inside the law ; and it can’t touch me, except 
for tearing that sheet, even if the captain peaches. But he 
won't! He’ll have some wonderful lie ready; got plenty 
of time to build one ; and his reputation demands it ! Well ; 
my precious pal, Kyle Coyote, seems spilin’ for those papers ! 
He'll he on time, sure ; and I think the trap is laid to snap ! 
I’ve got him dead to rights. Wonder if he’ll raise the 
money ? I might as well handle a thousand of his club 
stealings as not. And unless I do, he’ll never handle them 
little documents under the hearth. No ! Not if I pull down 
this rattletrap old house over his head ! Lady Lofty’s 


A T BRO IVNE BE A CH. 


21 1 


always begging to pull it down. Well, if she’s only patient 
awhile, it’ll fall down of itself.” 

He smoked awhile in silence ; then his face lit into a grim 
smile, as he re-entered the house saying aloud : 

“ Ves, I’d better make burglary a little more convenient 
for him.” 

Picking up a hatchet from the work-bench, Miles ascended 
the creaking stair leading to the room overlooking the water. 
The door was locked with hasp and staple, held by a pad- 
lock ; and into this Miles slipped the key — striking it heavily 
on one side with the hatchet. Then he tried it, but the 
spring had broken and would not work. Removing the key, 
he struck the hatchet into the door post, leaving it there, and 
slowly descending the stairs. 

Then the farmer wandered slowly up the lane, turning 
down the road and stopping at the country store that was 
bar-room, exchange and post-office in one. 

“Letter for you, neighbor Miles,” the shop-keeper said ; 
and Miles, knowing the one correspondent who would address 
him there, lazily took the letter and read Mrs. Browne’s fine, 
Italian characters. Then he whistled low and thoughtfully, 
for they ran : 

“ Brother and all of us make a trip to Browne Beach 
to-morrow noon . It may be needless warning ; but he should 
not see you . 5 ’ 

Miles thought a moment ; then he lazily sat down on a 
box and began to whittle. 

“If they should come together,” he thought, “Hardy is 
sharp enough to keep out of their way. Anyhow, old Baylor 
will never recognize him now. Let things drift along ; 
there’s plenty of current and the water is clear, so far. 
Wonder if Beagle ’ll come at three o’clock to see what I 
meant? He’s no good ; but if he does come, he may turn 
out a witness on the Coyote. And he won’t quarrel with 


212 


JUNY : OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


me ; his reputation won’t allow that. He’ll lie out, sure ! ” 
And Miles’ diagnosis of that case of wounded pride was 
correct. 

It was near ten o’clock when the unwonted silence in Nos. 
84 and 86, Leake House, caused the chamber-maid to rap at 
one door and then the other. No reply coming, she used 
her pass-key and found the bound and gagged detective. 
With a wild yell she started for the speaking tube and 
screamed to the clerk : 

‘ ‘ Oh, Wirra ! Wirra ! But ther’s a murthered man kickin’ 
fur the life on ’im ter get loose in 86, shure ! ” And covering 
her head with her apron, the servitor, fresh from the Emerald 
Isle, sank upon the floor and awaited developments. 

Promptly came the clerk ; promptly Mr. Beagle was untied, 
and equally promptly he explained the situation to the clerk. 
Indeed, it was so over-fully done, that FalstafF’s men in 
Lincoln green were not a corporal’s guard to the armed 
throngs that had entered that window ! 

“ Yes ; that quiet looking Miles is head center of the most 
dangerous gang of counterfeiters and bank burglars in the 
country,” Captain Beagle closed his case to the astounded 
clerk. “At the risk of my life I penetrated their den last 
night ; drugged the chief and would have captured him in 
the act to-day. But, somehow, they must have tumbled and 
followed him to his rooms ; for, when I waked, there were 
twenty pistols at my head and a pair of gigantic fellows sat 
upon me and .sprung my own bracelets upon me!” And 
Captain Beagle held up his manacled hands ruefully. 

“ Where are the keys? ” the clerk asked ; and, for the first 
time, both men realized that the detective’s clothes were 
gone. 

“Ring up my office — 261, ring three,” Beagle said, rather 
sheepishly. ‘ ‘ Call Cokely to telephone and sa3 T , ‘ Send 
patent key No. 5 to Leake House, quick.’ I’ll wait here; 


A T BRO WNE BE A CH. 


213 


and 7 nind! — on your life!” — added the captive, “do not 
breathe one word of this. Captures of the greatest moment 
depend upon your secrecy.” 

The clerk, swelling with the importance of his first crim- 
inal ckse, flew down to the telephone; and very promptly 
arrived a sub with the key. By irony of fate, it proved to 
be McTavish. Asking no questions, he stepped up to No. 
84 — unhappily known to him — and there beheld his chief in 
vinculis ! 

Beagle held out his hands mutely. McTavish unlocked 
the hand-cuffs and laid them on the bed. Not one word had 
passed ; but then, McTavish, glancing into the other room, 
said briefly : 

“Um ! You lost him, too?” 

“ Get me some clothes and a hat ; any kind, but hurry !” 
was the only answer Captain Beagle vouchsafed. And the 
inferior — closing the door with grave respect — paused in the 
hall to hold his sides, cram his handkerchief into his mouth, 
and finally rolled over and over upon the hall carpet in 
paroxysms of uncontrollable — but all the more painful because 
silent — laughter ! 




214 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

WITH HANDS BOUND. 

But shrewdly as Tip Miles had laid his plans, he missed 
two points that were to turn them to naught ; and his trap, 
literally to ashes ! 

For, escaping from the Leake House, he had in vain 
sought Larry, with his note to Browne ; hoping still that the 
hoy might not have obeyed instruction. But, failing all 
means to trace the young Tragedian, Miles fell back upon 
his usual philosophy. If Will had the note, he could not 
come ahead of the hour it named ; and, by that time, the 
game would be played ; the Coyote would be ripe for capture ; 
and Will’s advent would aid, rather than disarrange, matters. 
On the other hand, if the boy had lost the note, none but 
Browne could understand it. 

But, “It is the unexpected which happens ; ” and now the 
proverb was verified, all unknown to Miles. For, as he 
walked toward the grocery, Juny had alighted from the 
train ; alone, but cool and brave, spite of the faster thumping 
of her heart. 

She quietly asked the shortest route to Browne Beach farm. 
She had heard every detail of the place, for years, from 
Will’s description ; but she had never been there, and the 
day’s excursion had been planned to give her a first view of 
the place. 

But, under what different circumstances ! 

Cresting the hill, away to the left, the girl saw the pretty 
gables of May Bower cottage ; but straight in front, as she 
crossed the short cut to the lane, showed the sloping red 


WITH HANDS BOUND. 


215 


sides of the old farm-house. Hastening her pace, Juny 
made straight for the little garden gate ; and reached the 
porch, panting more with exercise and excitement, than with 
fear at her strange and lonely mission. 

Not a living creature was in sight about the farm, and, on 
the low porch, the silence grew oppressive to her. Narrow 
foot-paths ran along the sides of the house, half way back ; 
then they dipped abruptly to the water’s edge, leaving its 
rear windows approachable only by the water. 

Listening eagerly, Juny passed down one of these paths, 
weed-grown and unused. Stopped by the water, she tried 
the other, peering into the broken shutters and through the 
missing weather-boards, to see if any one was in the house. 
Not a sound did she hear ; only the distance-dulled whistle 
of the train that had brought her, now returning to town. 
Then bracing her courage up, Juny crept to the front porch 
and tried the crazy latch of the front door. It yielded, and 
she found herself in the mixed office and shop, from the 
further end of which rose the rickety stair. “Upstairs, 
back room,” was the direction ever before the girl’s brain; 
and she closed the door behind her, crossed the room and 
ascended the stair. In the dead stillness she could hear the 
beating of her own heart ; but she took fresh courage at the 
thought of what might depend upon her success, and stood 
at last before the designated room. Her heart fluttered in 
her bosom as a frightened bird trying to beat out of its cage ; 
but she never hesitated. 

‘ ‘ This must be the room ; but how — locked ! What could 
he mean by directing Will here to fool him ! ” In her eager- 
ness the girl shook the lock fiercely ; but it held ; and, 
pausing for breath, she saw the hatchet. 

“Oh ! if Will were only here !” she half sobbed ; but 
brave still — with nervous glance over her shoulder, she struck 
the point beneath the hasp and, with all her strength, forced 


2l6 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


the staple. Slowly it yielded ; then, with a sudden snap, 
that sounded in the stillness like a pistol shot. At the 
sound, and as the rough, heavy door slowly swung inward, 
Juny gave a stifled scream, dropped the hatchet and leaned 
trembling against the casing. 

“ Oh! Will!” she murmured. “ Won’t you come? Dear 
old Will ! ” 

The room was empty ; but the checkered sunlight from 
the diamond panes danced cheerfully upon the floor ; and 
the girl recovered herself bravely : 

“ Shame, on you, Juny ! You boasted to Will and to dad 
that you’d die for him ; and here you are frightened at an 
empty house ! Why you’re worse than Gus ! ” 

Picking up the hatchet, Juny crossed to the fire-place, its 
great square tiles, once red, but now grey with age and dust. 
Under these lay the papers they all had sought ! She was 
near their capture now ! She would give them to Will ; 
save her father and make Will’s eyes speak to her plainly 
the secret she had already read in them. 

Nerved with these thoughts, the girl stooped to the 
hearth ; the door catching the chimney draught and creak- 
ing slowly shut. Again Juny shuddered and turned ; again 
a hot flush at her own cowardice rose to her brow ; and, drop- 
ping on her knees, she inserted the hatchet between the 
heavy tiles. One by one she moved them, using all her 
strength and blistering the small hands, lately unused to 
such work. At last a great lump jumped to her throat, and 
stood thumping there ; and, almost dizzy with delight — she 
raised the dingy package of papers, closely folded and 
stained with age. She opened one sufficiently to see the 
signature, “Randolph Baylor,” at the bottom! And still 
kneeling there, the girl raised her glorious face and clasped 
her hands, as she murmured : 

‘ ‘ Thank God ! he is saved this risk ! and by me ! ” 


WITH HANDS BOUND. 


217 


Rising from her knees, no longer fearful now, but thank- 
ful, jubilant and proud, she turned toward the door, with 
the hatchet in one hand and the papers in the other. And 
as she stepped toward it, the heavy door that had just 
swung shut, opened wide ; and in the opening stood Kyle 
Hardy ! 

With equal amaze, both recoiled and stared at each other ; 
the color dropping out of Juny’s cheeks and lips, as she 
recognized him and murmured inaudibly : 

“ Too late ! Too late ! I am lost ! ” 

But the man spoke first ; a gleam of ugly meaning passing 
over his face as he recognized the girl : 

“ Who the devil ” he began. “ Oho ! By luck ! The 

shiners’ gal ! Well, Juny, you are a slick one ! ” 

The girl did not answer. 

“ Is there no escape?” she thought. “ Just as I had suc- 
ceeded, too ! Can I not save them ? ” 

“ Well, my pretty miss, you got ahead of the Coyote once 
before ! Oh ! yes ; you showed yesterday you remembered 
where we met. We need no introduction, Juny, do we ? 
Well, this time pays well for the last ; for you have saved 
me time, trouble and an even thousand dollars ! ” 

Juny’s white lips framed the words : 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ I mean, I’ll thank you for those papers.” 

With one wild idea to save them, the girl dropped the 
hatchet, tore open her dress and thrust the papers into her 
bosom, as she drew back and said : 

“ I have no papers of yours ! ” 

“We won’t discuss proprietorship ; but I want ’em all the 
same!” the man said mockingly. “ Oho ! that’s the game, 
is it ? ” And he put his foot quickly on the hatchet, which 
Juny, reminded by its fall, had stooped to grasp. “ Well, ye 
see it won’t win ! So fork out the papers.! ” 


2lS 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


The girl’s courage rose with the danger. 

“ I’ll give you nothing ! ” she said defiantly. 

“You won’t ? Then I’ll take them ! ’’ he cried ; and seiz- 
ing the girl roughly, the brute thrust his hand into her 
bosom. 

' Nerved by the touch, with flaming cheeks and the strength 
of desperation, Juny broke from him. 

“ Don’t dare to touch me, Kyle Hardy ! ” she cried, stand- 
ing erect before him with flashing eyes. “I’m only a girl — 
unarmed and in your power. There ! ’ ’ And she hurled the 
papers on the floor. “ You villain ! you coward /” 

“We won’t waste time exchanging compliments, Miss 
Baylor ! ’’ he answered mockingly. 

“ L,et me pass, Kyle Hardy!’’ the girl said ; but he got 
before her, whipping a short rope from his pocket. 

“L,et me pass, I say!” she repeated desperately, seeing 
his intent. “My father and Will Browne are coming here ! 
I left word to say where I had come, and for what ! ” 

“Then by luck! you’ve saved me again, Juny!” he 
cried, seizing her arm roughly. “They’ll find you in this 
room, waiting for them /’’ 

“Would you murder me ? ” the girl exclaimed, now terri- 
fied at his touch and struggling helplessly to get free. 

“ Oh, no ! ” he sneered. “ Only keep you quiet, while I 
get off safely with these ! Your pretty Will must be here 
soon, you say. Damn it ! quit struggling ; or, I tvill hurt 
you ! ” he ended brutally. 

Then twisting the girl’s arms, he passed the rope deftly 
about her elbows ; knotting it and tying the end around her 
wrists. 

In the struggle she had reached the door. Roughly he 
pushed her far into the room. 

“ There ! Damn you ! ” he growled. “ In with you and 
stay there till they come ! ” With a quick movement he 


WITH HANDS BOUND. 


219 


picked the hatchet from the floor ; pulled the broken hasp 
over the staple and drove the hatchet home, to hold it. 

Juny had thrown v herself heavily against the door. “ Tet 
me out ! Help ! Will ! Dad ! Help ! ” she screamed. 

“They’ll find you soon, Juny! You can afford to wait. 
I can not!” Hardy jeered. “ By Jove ! ” he added, softly 
descending the stairs, ‘ ‘ I have struck a breeze to-day ! 
‘Unlucky in love?’ Damn love! And now to dodge my 
precious pal, Tip Miles, Esquire ! ” 




220 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

“touching her off!” 

When Kyle Hardy had fled from the women in his home, 
it was in dread lest their cries might summon an officer and 
detain him beyond the time he had fixed to start for the old 
farm-house and outwit Tip Miles — if he could. 

But one idea dominated ; one living chance seemed left to 
him now— to get those forged vouchers back and sell them 
at Washington. 

Have them he would , by fair means or foul ; even if he had 
to murder Miles, or — worse — to pay for them. The latter 
chance seemed wholly gone ; his exposure at the club and 
Dili’s refusal to give up the only diamonds worth half the 
sum, leaving the money hopeless. 

Desperate now — and with all the brute in his nature upper- 
most — the gambler slipped from his gate through the narrow, 
noisome alley between the streets. Entering the back door 
of a beer saloon, he seated himself at a table and ordered 
beer and sandwiches. 

He had eaten nothing for many hours ; his nerves were 
shattered to the verge of mania, and the physical man, he 
felt, must have sustenance for the new trial it was to undergo. 

Forcing himself to swallow the food and drink, Hardy 
listened for noises in the neighboring street ; but, hearing 
none, he passed out of the saloon, hailed a cab and was soon 
in the very same train that bore Juny to Browne Beach 
station. But, in different coaches, and each intent on avoiding 
notice, neither had seen the other on alighting. 

Juny had stopped to inquire her way. Hardy, remem- 
bering the spot, struck straight for the old house, across 


“ TOUCHING HER OFF!" 


221 


fields. But for a new ditch — deep and wide, which he was 
forced to double — the gambler would have reached the goal 
before her. 

But now — with the papers in his breast and ugly triumph 
in his heart, that for the moment steadied his nerves — Hardy 
cautiously opened the front door and peered out. Quickly 
and softly he closed it. 

For, coming down the shadowy lane, he saw Tip Miles ; 
and with him, a lank sixfooter, in butternut pants, but inno- 
cent of coat or vest. 

For Miles, sitting on the dry goods box at the post-office 
and reflecting on the uncertainty of events, thought of the 
special uncertainty of Beagle’s arriving at Browne Beach at 
all ; certainly in time to nab Kyle Hardy, during his two 
o’clock visit. 

Violence was not Miles’ game. He wanted to bag Hardy ; 
not to wing him. And, even should Colonel Baylor and 
Browne stumble in at the same hour, he was determined to 
avoid a repetition of the Shiners’ Gap episode. 

Everything should be regular and artistic, this time ; 
worthy of him who could scent out his shadower and leave 
him in his own bracelets. Still, legal aid might be needed ; 
so he walked with the county constable, dinnerward bound ; 
requesting him to be in easy reach of the farm-house porch 
at two o’clock, sharp. 

Then Miles left the* coatless constable ; sauntered back to 
the old porch ; and, seating himself on the rickety step, 
began to think. Gradually, the thoughts became spoken 
words, as he took out Captain Beagle’s revolver and tested 
the hammer and cylinder. 

“ Wonder what hour Kyle will come,” he thought aloud. 
“ He’ll come, sure ; for he’s red-hot set on those papers, to 
drug me for ’em. But he — didn’t get ’em ! ” And he 
laughed low and enjoyably. “ He can't be putting up any 


222 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


job to get ’em without the money ! If he is; why, old Jack- 
pots hasn’t forgot howto line a trey at twenty paces, any 
more than the Coyote.” 

He dropped the pistol on a distant sapling, sighting along 
the barrel ; and Kyle Hardy, noiselessly slipping from the 
door behind, made one spring across the narrow porch and 
wrenched it from his hand. 

“Be careful, Tip,” he sneered at the thoroughly surprised 
Miles. “ If you handle firearms so carelessly, you’ll hurt 
yourself ! ” 

“ Damna ” Miles checked the oath, half- forced from 

him by the shock ; finishing coolly : 

“ Why, Kyle, what do you mean ? ” 

“ I mean business,” Hardy answered roughly. “ I mean 
I came ahead of time, because you were playing double ! 
You’ve tried to trick me, Tip Miles, and failed ! You wanted 
my money without my fingering those pretty little forgeries 
that cost me so much trouble ! ” 

“Why, Kyle!” Miles answered, in seeming surprise, “I 
gave you the key ; and the papers are safe in that room, 
now!” 

‘ ‘ You lie ! They are not ! ” Hardy retorted brutally. 

Miles stared steadily at him a moment before he replied : 

‘ ‘ kook here, Coyote ; you’re playing some card I don’t 
see. Shake your sleeve and drop it ’fore I lay down to a 
bluff! ” 

And as he spoke, he sat upon the sill of the broken win- 
dow, near the door, rolling a cigarette. 

“Well, here’s my hand,” Hardy answered viciously. 
“ I’ve seen yours ; and I won’t give you a red cent ! ” 

Miles rolled his cigarette tighter, keeping his eye on 
Hardy’s face. Then it went furtively toward the distant 
field, where the butternut breeches of the constable were 
growing colorless in distance. 


“ TOUCHING HER OFF ! " 


223 


“ Needn’t look for him /” Hardy answered the look he 
had intercepted. ‘ ‘ The papers are mine ! ” 

Miles struck a match and lit his cigarette as he answered : 

“ So they are, Kyle. So they are — when you get ’em ! ” 

“ Or, now ; we’ll say,” Hardy answered, tapping the pis- 
tol. “ I hold your age ! ” 

“ Why, so you do, Kyle !” Miles answered aloud ; but he 
added to himself : ‘ ‘ Curse my carelessness. But he never 

shall get them, if I lay this old barn in ashes ! ” 

Then he rose from the window sill, saying : 

“But, Kyle, ain’t you ready to go upstairs, get your 
property and keep your word about the wealth ? ” 

Kyle Hardy seemed to be listening for something, a 
moment ; much to Miles’ astonishment. Then he walked 
through the little gate, into the lane. 

‘‘ Come along this way,” he said. “Now, Tip Miles, have 
you been playing me for a sucker? Did you think I’d ante 
up a thousand useful dollars, for three pieces of paper, be- 
longing to me, when I could get them without ? ’ ’ 

Hardy was moving rapidly up the lane ; Miles following, 
in no little wonder. 

“Maybe you will get ’em, Kyle,” he answered slowly. 
“ Maybe you’ve made me carry out one of Lady Lofty’s pet 
plans, without waiting for orders. But what is your game. 
Coyote? ” 

“To win!” Hardy answered, stopping in the lane. 
“ You always did play too brash, Tip. Those papers are 
viine ! ” 

“ You think so, Kyle ? Well, they were yours, safe 
enough, under the tiles in that upstairs room, where you 

will never get to now / ” And he looked back steadily, 

as he spoke. 

“What’s that, eh?” cried Hardy, following his gaze and 
pointing with the pistol. 


224 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


“ Only a little fire, Kyle! Don’t look scared; you’ll get 
used to fire, some day. That passageway is full of shav- 
ings; and, Coyote, the old barn is as rotten as your 
character ! ” 

As he spoke, puffs of black smoke jetted through the 
broken window and the half-open door. 

“Great God!” cried Hardy. “What have you done?’’ 

“Put up one big bluff agin another, Kyle Hardy! I 
dropped the match in that passage. In ten minutes that 
house will be in ashes ; and your papers are there ! ” 

“Idiot!” yelled Hardy, dragging him back toward the 
house. “ The papers are here ; and you are a — murderer ! ” 



TO THE RESCUE. 


225 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

TO THE RESCUE. 

For an instant, Tip Miles stood immovable in the lane. 
He could not believe the Coyote’s words. 

Who could have any interest in the old house ? 

How could Hardy possibly know if any one were really 
there? But something in the latter’s face, an unusual 
expression of humanity, intensified by horror, admitted of 
no doubt. 

“Speak truth, Coyote!” he cried, as they neared the 
porch. “Is any one there ? Hark ! What’s that ? ” 

They were nearly at the gate, when through the stillness 
rang a muffled shriek ; the cry of a soul in agony ! It came 
from the doomed house ; for with it came little puffs and 
wreaths of smoke ; and a dull glow, as of flames suppressed, 
peered through the window and the broken boards. 

Then again the cry rang out ; clearer, less muffled, now as 
though the caller caught the peril and fresh strength from 
knowledge of it ! 

“ Help ! Murder! Will ! ” could be distinguished ; and in 
a woman’s voice. 

Both men were racing for the door ; Miles’ face set and 
fierce ; the eyes glowing like coals, as the cry reached his 
ear and penetrated his sense. 

“ Is she there ? ” he asked through his set teeth. 

“ Yes ! Can we reach the upper floor ? ” 

Miles dashed open the front door. Masses of released 
smoke rolled out — dense, blinding, suffocating ; and, as the 
men strove to breast it, yellow tongues of flame licked 
through it, forking above their heads. 

15 


226 JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 

“We can never reach her this way ! The stairs burn ! Is 
there no other? ” Hardy gasped. Then, with livid face and 
eyes starting from their sockets, he again essayed the blazing 
passage. 

But Miles dragged him back, screaming hoarsely : 

“You’re mad! The stairs burn! Yonder — that hay- 
rick — a ladder ” 

Panting with exertion and the fierce heat, Hardy dashed 
for the rick at a rapid run ; while Miles crept along the 
narrow path, in the blistering heat from the side of the house. 
Beating upon the hot boards, he shouted : 

“Break the window, Juny ! Kick out the sash ! ” 

A dull, heavy beating answered from above ; but the 
diamond-latticed sash was stronger than its age suggested ; 
and again the muffled cry rang out — still more appealing in 
its agonized despair : “ Dad ! Will ! Help me ! ” 

Then the thuds redoubled ; the sash trembled, yielded, 
and, bearing part of the frame, fell with a dull plash into 
the water below. In the opening leaned Juny ; her face 
deadly white, her hair loose from the effort, her eyes horror- 
riveted upon the man below. 

“Would you murder me?” she screamed. “Oh! Tip 
Miles, you could not ! The floor is hot ! The smoke chokes 
me ! Help ! ” 

“Courage, gal!” Miles shouted. “I’ll save you— for 
your mother’s eyes ! Come to this window, just above.” 

“ I can not,’’ she gasped. “ The door is locked ! ’’ 

The man’s heart stood still. He glanced at the rick ; 
Hardy was almost there ; but the heavy ladder would delay 
one man. He shouted back : 

“ You’re safe for five minutes ! Keep at the window ; I’ll 
be back in two minutes ! ” He hesitated, as little wreaths of 
smoke began to puff from the sill just below the girl. 
Then he cried : 4 ‘ Jump and swim ! I’ll save you ! ” 


TO THE RESCUE 


227 


“ I dare not ! ” the girl screamed back, despairingly. “ You 
k?iow my hands are tied ! ” 

“ One minute, then ! ” Miles shouted back, over his shoul- 
der. He was already racing for the rick. 

But even as he ran— with the girl’s wild eyes still before 
him ; her wild shriek still in his ears— the wonder rose how 
she got there ? How could she have known ? And then her 

tied hands ! Could the Coyote Then, like a flash, 

memory came back and forced out a great groan : 

“ My God ! My note to Will ! ” 

With whirling brain, he reached the rick ; seized the long 
ladder Hardy was dragging, and rushed back, swinging it 
between them. 

Then, with sickening sense, Miles felt they could never 
reach in time, with that weight. The fire gained rapidly ; 
and already the draught from the opened window was eddy- 
ing thick masses of smoke, cut by yellow flashes of flame, 
around the water gable ! 

It was too late ! 

Hid from the two men, by the smoke between ; with 
parched lips and straining eyeballs, the horrified girl leaned 
heavily against the window, trying to pray. But the hot 
breath of the fire below drew hotter and closer round, almost 
choking her now and stifling even thought ! 

“ Oh, God ! Can he let me die so ? Will, if you love me, 
come!” she murmured brokenly. “The floor burns me! 
That black water! I dare not jump with hands bound! 
Oh ! God! Dad’s dream ! I said I’d die for him ; they were 
my eyes he saw ! ” 

Once again despair sent out its last wild wail : 

‘ ‘ Dad ! Save me save me ! ” 

As the agonized cry left her lips, Juny’s hope half revived ; 
for, round the wooded point beyond shot the small yacht, 
tacking direct for her. Through the whirling density of 


228 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL’S STORY. 


smoke— its eddies lifting on the breeze, only to fall more 
black next instant — the girl’s strained eyes recognized them 
all. 

She even recalled a jest at Gus’ hat and her amusement at 
Michael Angelo, so strangely do veriest trifles come into the 
greatest crises of our lives. 

Just then it was that the party on the boat had caught 
sight of the fire. The helm changed ; the boat ran off on 
the other tack. 

‘ ‘ Oh ! God ! My prayer will not be answered ! They do 
not see me ! Tost ! Tost ! ” groaned the half-crazed girl, 
dropping to her knees on the hot floor ; thrusting her head 
far from the window to avoid the stifling heat. 

Higher rose the flames, now freed from smothering smoke 
of chips and shavings and feeding on the dried sides of the 
house itself. 

The front had already crumbled in ; and, from the fields, 
Tip Miles could see the hideous pit of fire — yawning between 
him and that gable-end. 

Suddenly, around that, too, licked the insatiate tongues of 
flame ; and the man, struggling on with the ladder — three 
hundred yards away — dropped it with a groan, as the roof 
above that gable flamed out high — swayed one instant — 
tumbled into one seething mass of white-hot coals ! 


THE VOICE ON THE WA TER. 


229 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

THE VOICE ON THE WATER. 

As Mrs. Beverly Baylor Browne had taken her seat in the 
carriage, her facial barometer had plainly marked “ stormy ! ” 
and the persistent silence she maintained boded ominously 
for the gayety of the boating party under her chaperonage. 
Nor was Colonel Baylor in his usual good humor. Juny’s 
whim was not pleasing to him, nor could he condone Will’s 
share in the unusual escapade. 

Still, hoping to find the reckless pair at the depot, he made 
careful scrutiny of the scattered groups ; hoping, against 
hope, that they had missed the previous train. 

He rejoined his party with best grace possible, saying : 

“ They will join us certainly at Blue Point station. Will 
knows that we take the yacht there ; and sail up the Sound 
to the old farm-house wharf. ’ ’ 

Mrs. Browne was silent ; Gus pouting ; and even the ex- 
huberant Evolutionist evolved no audible idea, until the 
train had whirled away from stuffy city air, into the balmy 
country breeze. Then, by it fortified, Michael Angelo re- 
marked : 

“To me the atomic structure of Miss Juniata Baylor’s 
character seems somewhat peculiar, Mrs. Browne. She cer- 
tainly combines an unusual share of reliant gentleness, with 
preponderant self-helpfulness, in a tone singularly blended 
into strong oppositions of texture. These are quite ” 

“ Quite/" And Mrs. Browne’s monosyllable was so cold, 
as to freeze the rest of the simile on Take’s tongue. ‘ ‘ Brother 
Randolph, suppose we stop at May Bower station and see if 


230 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


Juny has not stopped there, to anticipate our visit to the 
cottage ? ’ ’ 

“ Positively, no ; we will go on to Blue Point ! ” The 
colonel had taken the reins again . “ J uny has heard my wish 
that we should first visit the cottage together ; she assuredly 
will respect it ! ” 

“ Perhaps,” Mrs. Browne began ; “ but such unconven — ” 

“ It is not a matter to be discussed,” he answered shortly, 
“ I am sure. We will meet them at Blue Point.” 

But the station-master at Blue Point had seen nothing of 
Will, whom he knew well ; nor had any passenger stopped 
at the station that morning. A messenger had come from 
the Browne farm to have the yacht ready ; and she was now 
floating at her stake. 

“ We shall, of course, go back to the Beach now ? ” Mrs. 
Browne sniffed, disdaining to sit on the bench in the station- 
room. “ Wilmot and your daughter must be there.” 

“Wherever they are, Juny is perfectly safe with Will.” 
There was a restlessness in the colonel’s eye that belied his 
words ; and a hot spot rose to his cheek as he added : “ They 
can not expect our programme to change on their account. 
We were to sail up to the Beach ; so sail we will.” 

They started for the water side, where a jaunty, sloop- 
rigged, miniature yacht danced at the steps ; with everything 
thrown loose, ready to run up. 

“ Mr. Lake,” the colonel said, as he hauled her alongside 
the step, “ can you sail a boat ? ” 

“ No ; absolutely, no ! ” the Evolutionist replied, with more 
directness than was his wont. “ In theory, I understand, the 
changeful effects of wind-currents upon the resistent canvas ; 
but, practically, I fear I should prove too inexpert to 
justify ” 

“Well, you can tend sail, I suppose,” Colonel Baylor cut 
in. “ That is not repugnant to art, is it ? ” 


THE VOICE ON THE WA TER. 


2 3 I 


Michael Angelo glanced at his No. 6 tan gloves ; but 
before he could speak, Gus said cheerily : 

“I can, Uncle Ran. I can sail her, too, if you’ll let me. 
I think it’s real crimp to know how ! ” 

“Under some congenial conditions ” Take began. 

‘ ‘ Get in ! ” Mrs. Browne spoke shortly. 

The colonel had hoisted the sail, and the boat rocked rest- 
lessly in the fair breeze, dead-ahead. The Evolutionist 
obeyed gingerly ; Gus was already seated in the thwarts with 
the sail rope, and Mrs. Browne stepped in the stern. 

It was not a cheerful party. The stiff breeze ahead caused 
long and frequent tacks ; and the colonel seemed wholly 
absorbed in managing the tiller and giving directions to Gus 
about the sail. He was bitterly disappointed in Juny’s 
escapade, and not a little uneasy over her unaccountable 
mistake, as to time and place for the yacht party. 

It was slow working up against the wind ; but, as they at 
last passed the point obstructing the view of Browne Beach, 
the old soldier’s quick eye caught the puffs of smoke begin- 
ning to ascend from the red farm-house. For awhile he 
madq no comment ; but, when certain of the fact, he said 
quietly : “ Sister, the farm-house is on fire ! ” 

‘ ‘ Indeed, it is ! How singular ! ’ ’ Mrs. Browne cried. 

“It will bum like tinder. There’s no saving it,” the 
colonel said. 

“ Well, I’m sure it’s rather a gain than a loss, brother,” 
she answered, defending her pet plan. “ It has saved you 

the cost of pulling it down ” 

“Oh! those flames are beautiful !” Gus cried, as the 
yellow tongues licked through the dull smoke, darting out 
and retracting as though alive. ‘ ‘ Oh ! Uncle Ran ! it’s 
worth a house to see anything so awfully crimp ! ” 

“Why, you little Nero!” the colonel answered. “It’s 
plain to see you are not a property-holder.” 


232 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


“ I have often noted,” Mr. Rake said, breaking along and 
futile silence, “that flame individually and intrinsically is 
not beautiful. But it is noteworthy that conflagrations, in 
some sort, indemnify us for Nature’s outrageous misuse of 
color in so many spontaneous instances. The wavy masses 
of dun, neutral background, picked out with saffron and 
crimson, give artistically contrasted tones. Indeed, they 
almost compensate for those gross oppositions of green and 
red in the field lily ; the intensity of horror in a deep blue sky 
over a raw green sward. Yes, Miss Gustine, it is pleasant 
to know that, in its relations to evolution of effect in Art, 
even destruction has its compensations ! ” 

“It is pleasant to know,” the colonel added, “ that in ordi- 
nary cases it has the more practical compensation of insur- 
ance ! ” 

“ Which we could not effect on the Beach propertjq” Mrs. 
Browne finished. “ But, I repeat, brother Randolph, that 
the fire here is an economy ! ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Doubtless ! ” Colonel Baylor answered briefly ; and again 
his mind went back to Juny and the wonder at her strange 
freak, and its stranger abetting by Will. 

“The fire will spoil our landing, won’t it, Uncle?” Gus 
queried. 

“Yes; there is no step, save at the old house,;” her 
mother said, “and if we land along the beach below, there is 
no road across the fields to the cottage.” 

“We’ll tack in one stretch nearer,” the colonel decided, 
and then sail back to Blue Point. The children must be 
there, ere now ; and, seeing the fire, will naturally expect us 
back.” 

The boat was put about ; wearing up slowly toward the 
scene of the fire. Then, as the smoke rolled upward on the 
wind, Gus cried : “See ! Uncle Ran ! The fire is attract- 
ing people. Two men are racing with a ladder ! ” 


THE VOICE ON THE IV A TER. 


2 33 


‘‘What for?” Mrs. Browne asked shortly. “There is 
nothing to save. The house is empty and a good riddance, 
I’m sure ! ” 

“There come two more, racing along the beach,” Gus 
answered. ‘‘A big man and a little one. Why, the big one 
looks like Will ” 

“Augustine! Please be rational!” Mrs. Browne said. 
“ How could Will be running to a country fire and leaving 
Juniata by herself? It would be too unconventional, even 
for her ! ’ ’ 

“Yes, you are right,” the colonel replied, glancing at the 
runners. “ The one in his shirt sleeves does look like Will 
though, at this distance.” 

Ah ! There ! See the wonderful oppositions of back- 
ground and flexible flame-tints ! ” broke in Lake, as the 
smoke lifted and the yellow glow wrapped the water gable 
of the house. “The cloud masses seem to typify gloom, 
doubt, despair ! But the flame-lambents shoot into effort, 
aspiration, triumph ” 

“My God ! What’s that?” 

The colonel’s voice rang out clear, low, but in horrified 
accents. For, as the wind whirled the smoke-clouds high 
above their heads, it bore to his quick ear, faint and dim, 
the echo : 

“Help, Dad! Help !” 

“What do you mean, brother?” Mrs. Browne stared at 
the pale face and strained eyes, fixed upon the house, now 
again enveloped in smoke. 

But Gus leaned forward now ; her face blanched, her lips 
apart. For again the wind-flaw lifted the smoke-clouds, 
trailing them out like a pall toward the boat. And again 
it bore upon it — faint still, but more distinct — the low, de- 
spairing wail : 

‘ ‘ Help ! Dad ! Save me ! ” 




JUNY : OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


Colonel Baylor’s eyes met the girl’s. In them, he read 
confirmation of his first terrible, paralyzing dread. Then 
the old soldier rose supreme. With a bound he was at the 
sail, throwing loose the rope ; next instant, as the canvas 
rattled down — still bellying in the breeze — he grasped the 
mast, unstepped it and threw it overboard ; and, with the 
same motion, reached for the oars and drew them from be- 
neath the seats. 

“Can you row?” he said huskily to Lake ; and the latter 
helplessly grasped the proffered sweep. 

With a gesture of contempt, Gus pushed him aside, almost 
throwing him out of the frail craft, seized the oar and tore 
off her long gloves. 

And, stranger still ; without one word, but with ashen 
face and gleaming eyes, Mrs. Browne twisted herself about, 
seized the tiller like an expert, and whispered in horror- 
curdled tones : 

“ Pull ! For God’s sake ! pull ! She is there!” 




'INTO THE JA WS OF DEA TH / 


235 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

“into the jaws of death!” 

Wrapped in pall-like wreaths of smoke, sickened by parch- 
ing heat upon her face— dizzy— desperate— Juny stretched 
out after the little air left her. 

She could not see the change in the boat’s crew and in its 
course. She only knew that the white sail — her sole reliance 
—the very ‘ ‘ Rock of Ages ” for her clinging hope— had 
disappeared. 

She did not know that the wild, despairing cry she sent 
out after it struck other ears and nearer, more possible of 
aid to her peril. For Will Browne, dashing along the very 
path she had come, saw the burning house from the distance. 

From the station, he took the cut across fields ; a vague, 
but strong oppression — which he could neither shake off nor 
account for — urging him to haste. 

He knew Juny had gone to danger ; he knew the desperate 
nature of the men she might chance to meet. For, while 
Miles’ note puzzled him greatly, it might be only a trap. If 
so, she had walked directly into it. So, troubled with these 
thoughts, he hastened along the narrow path with stride 
that taxed Larry’s shorter legs to the tribute of a dog- trot. 

Suddenly the latter cried : 

“ Sa-ay, Cap’n ! That ’ere barn’s a-fire ! ” 

And Will — giving one swift glance toward the house — 
started for it in a wild rush ; while Larry, now at home and 
on even terms with longer legs, braced his hands on his 
chest and struck into a swinging run that easily kept up 
with the man’s best stride. 


2^6 JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 

On both rushed, till the turn of the path brought them 
nearly opposite the water-gable of the house ; flame and 
smoke wrapping it, like a graceful mantle toyed with by the 
flawing wind. And out of flame and smoke and falling 
brand— striking their ears with the same dread meaning that 
had fallen upon those of the water-party— came the* wailing 
shriek : 

“ Help, Dad ! Save me!” 

For one single instant Will Browne halted ; pushing back 
the damp hair from his brow, staggering as though the sound 
had struck him like a bullet. Only one instant ! The next, 
filling his lungs in a great gasp, he dashed forward again ; 
every muscle strained ; every nerve at dire tension ! 

But Larry never paused. Skimming the ground with the 
lightness, almost the fleetness, of a greyhound, his out-door 
training and bare feet told in the long race ; while Will’s 
wound told heavily against him. Kre he had struck the 
dividing fence, fifty yards from the house, Larry had vaulted 
over, crossed the narrow spit of ground and hailed the 
window : 

“Hi!” he cried. “Are yer there, gal? Anser ! ” 

A flaw of wind divided the smoke, and Juny’s ghost-like 
face, drawn with fear and horror, looked down upon the boy. 

“Jump ! Ye’re saved ! Jump quick ! ” he yelled. 

“ I dare not ! ” came the wail. “ My hands are tied ! ” 

“Jump, I say! Darn yer hands ! Jump !” yelled Larry, 
in stentorian- tones. 

And, borne on the wind, they crossed the water ; falling 
like balm upon strained ears in that boat, where Gus, with 
blistered hands but sturdy will, held her own against her 
uncle’s oar. 

And the boat, lightened of its sail, was gliding on ; spurn- 
ing foam from her bow and leaving a silver-bubbled wake 
behind. But it was still three hundred yards away, when 


“ INTO THE JA IVS OF DEA TH/” 


* 37 

the boy’s ringing voice crossed the sad waves, with message 
of such cheer ! 

Some one was there, the laboring rowers knew. And then 
rang out a new voice; as Will Browne, vaulting the fence 
behind him, caught the boy’s cry and echoed it : 

“Jump, Juny ! Jump ! Will is here ! ” 

As he so screamed — still forty yards away — the crazy 
gable seemed to reel and rock ; then to shoot upward in the 
air ! 

A whirling swoop of sparks and fiery brands, with hun- 
gry tongues of flame, circled round and round, high-spired 
above the roof ! 

Then, when it died and fell, the sickening watchers in the 
boat ; the racing man upon the shore ; all saw — as Miles 
had seen, when he groaned and hid his face — that the gable 
had fallen in and only left a roaring, crackling maw of coals 
and flame and lurid smoke. 

But— just in time ; with not a second to spare— the girl 
had hurled herself through the air ; clave the dark water 
and disappeared. And, at the same instant, a loud splash 
showed where Larry had plunged after her. 

And Will Browne— half-crazed, but never slacking speed— 
was at the bank ; plunged in amid debris and burning raft- 
ers, just in time to see the boy’s head reappear above the 
surface. Then Will struck out to where the boy floated 
himself with one hand ; while on his other arm rested the 
pallid face of the rescued girl ; the eyes closed and the long 
fair hair floating upon the water. 

“ Shove along that ’ere plank ! ’’ Larry shouted, squirting 
a great stream from his mouth ; and, as Will guided the 
charred timber nearer, the boy seized it ; lifting himself 
higher. 

“Swim roun’ an’ liff her, Cap’n,’’ he said, puffing. “ She’s 
solid, bet yer Boyntons ! ’’ 


238 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


Without a word — with thanksgiving in his heart, too 
deep for words — Will obeyed the boy’s directions. A few 
more strokes ; and their feet struck the shelving bank. 
Between them, they bore the unconscious girl to the grass ; 
cut the rope from her arms and laid her gently down, just as 
the old house crumbled in, with a dull, groaning sound. 

And Larry, looking up with dripping hair, but glowing 
face, exclaimed : 

“ Warn’t it boss , Cap’n ? Jest as perfec’ as ef we’d ’a re - 
hearsed fur a month ! Not a minit ter spare, nuther ; but 
it did jest beat the fire scene at t’ Bowery — all ter smash, 
yer kin critter -size / ” 



COMING TOGETHER. 


239 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

COMING TOGETHER. 

When Tip Miles and Kyle Hardy saw the gable tumble 
into the fiery maw of the furnace beneath it, both men 
dropped the ladder, standing still and staring at it, horrified, 
dazed ! 

Then, suddenly Miles sprang at the other, gripping his 
throat and shaking the larger and heavier man in his fierce 
wrath. 

“ Was she there? Answer, you devil !” he screamed; 
suddenly pausing and slowly releasing his grasp. For Hardy 
made no effort ; and the eyes, close to his own, stared into 
them with vacant idiocy ; and a dull, meaningless laugh 
was all the answer his violence wrung from the gambler’s 
thoughts. Constant strain on them, aided by constant use 
of brandy, had culminated in the horror of that hour ; and 
Hardy’s nervous system had given way, bringing him to the 
very verge of mania. 

Wasting no second glance, Miles threw the jibbering 
creature from him, and flew toward the now crumbling mass 
of fire, as fast as feet could carry him. But sickening horror 
almost numbed the power of motion, as he felt he was too 
late ! 

If the girl had remained in the house, she must have 
perished horribly in the ruins. If she had jumped, her 
hands were tied ! And those thoughts rising, as he ran ; the 
hideous scene was plain before him and the tough old sinner 
stopped still ; covering his face with his hands, to shut it 
out. Then, coercing himself to effort, he ran on again ; turned 


240 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


the curve in the path and saw Larry and Will, stooping over 
the inanimate girl. 

Rushing to them, he threw off his coat, wrapping it 
around the drenched form ; and, as he knelt to do it, some- 
thing very like a prayer of thankfulness rose from his heart, 
but was only a growl when it reached his lips. 

“ No time to lose ! ” he cried to Will. “We must get her 
to the cottage quick as possible. Plenty of dry clothes in 

the bedroom ; big fire, ready to light Ha ! What is 

that?” 

His quick eye caught the yacht, rocking on the waves and 
drifting undirected ; and Will’s glance, directed by his, in- 
stantly took in the situation. 

“ Great heaven ! That’s my mother and sister!” he cried. 
“ Uncle must have one of his attacks ! ” 

“They are safe enough,” Miles answered quietly. All 
his coolness had returned, on seeing Juny safe. “ You and 
the kid get the gal to the cottage. I’ve a punt in the rushes, 
here ; I’ll row out and bring them in.” 

He ran down the shore, floated his punt, and sculled 
briskly for the yacht ; but he yelled back to shore : 

“ Hurry that gal into dry clothes ! I’ll carry the good 
news to her dad ! ” 

And the strange rescuer was none too soon ; as it showed 
when he neared the drifting boat. For, when the gable 
of the old house had crumbled in and disappeared in a 
whirling spiral of sparks and flame, Colonel Baylor’s back 
was turned on that awful sight. But as he rose to his stroke, 
his eye caught his sister’s face ; ashen, wide-eyed, with hor- 
ror frozen in its every line, as she stared over his shoulder. 
Wrenching his body round, he saw that the house had 
tumbled ; and, with one deep gasp, fell forward, insensible. 

The boat veered round, with Gus’ strong stroke, showing 
her the hideous scene that had struck her uncle down. But 


COMING TOGETHER. 


241 


it showed her, too, a man springing from the bank, and other 
figures moving in the water ; and, fascinated with horror, she 
saw, a moment later, the three land upon the bank. Then 
Gus came out strong. 

“ Sit still, mamma ! ” she cried. “ Don’t move, Mr. Lake, 
or we’ll be over!” Then carefully reaching the prostrate 
man, she raised his head and laid him across the seat, wetting 
his wrists and temples and feeling the beating of his heart. 

After a few moments he revived somewhat ; opening his 
eyes, but closing them quickly with a shudder. 

“ She’s safe ! Juny’s safe ! Uncle Ran ! ” she called in his 
ear. “She’s all right ! Will saved her from the water! ” 

Gradually the iteration fastened on his stunned sense, and, 
as Colonel Baylor opened his eyes once more, a joy unspeak- 
able crept into them. 

“ O ! God ! You are merciful ! ” he murmured faintly. 
“ Help me up, Gus. Are you — sure ?” 

And Gus, with his head resting on her shoulder, pointed 
beyond the still-flaming ruins to where Juny had risen to 
her feet, between her two preservers. 

Meantime, the boat was drifting out with the ebb tide ; 
and Gus saw she must get her crew ashore. She turned to 
Michael Angelo, sitting curled in helpless misery in the bow. 

“Can’t you try and row?” she asked him, in a tone, 
where obsecration struggled with contempt: “It’s just 
the easiest thing, and awfully crimp to know ! ” 

“I can try /” replied the desperate Evolutionist. 

Tearing off his gloves, he seized the proffered oar ; put 
all his muscle and all his mind upon it ; and pulled two sur- 
prisingly vigorous strokes. Unhappily, they were as rapid as 
vigorous ; and the second sprawled him on his back in the 
bottom of the boat, his feet skyward ; while the dragging 
oar, crab-caught, swerved the light craft and nearly upset 
her. Reaching the oar, Gus steadied the boat ; trying to put 
16 


242 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


her head to the tide and row against it to the shore. But 
her hands were blistered and her breath came short and fast. 
Then, to her delight, she saw the little boat shoot from the 
willows ; propelled by vigorous arms, straight for the yacht. 
Next instant she recognized the rower, crying : 

“ Mamma ! Look ! It’s the manager ! ” 

No added delight showed Mrs. Browne ; but she was so 
dead beat by the excitements of that day, that she never 
spoke, scarce even looked her scorn, as Miles drew along- 
side, stepped lightly into the yacht ; and, seizing the 
two oars, pulled strongly for shore, with the brief remark : 

“ I’ll pull her in ! ” 

Once landed, Miles took command of the party ; Mrs. 
Browne’s horror-shattered power of resistance yielding to the 
strongly-asserted will. 

“ Here ! Take hold and help the colonel ! ” he said blunt- 
ly to Lake, after one comprehensive stare at his wonderful 
make-up. And soon, at the cottage, the old man was in 
Juny’s arms. 

“ Oh ! Dad ! Dad ! Heaven has been good to us ! ” she 
cried, hanging round his neck, with tears of joyous gratitude 
rolling down her cheeks. “How can I ever be thankful 
enough ! When I lost your sail, I lost all hope ! I never 
dreamed we should meet on earth again.” 

“ We are ever in His hand, my daughter,” the old soldier 
answered, his own cheeks wet. “ When I saw that roof fall, 
and believed you were beneath it, heaven was merciful to 
send me unconsciousness.” He held her closer to him, his 
eyes raised in silent thanksgiving, ere he added: “But I 
have you still, my darling ! My daughter ! ” 

And at these words, Mr. Tip Miles turned away abruptly 
and blew his nose like a fog-horn. 

While restoratives were used and rest sought by the others 
of the party, Will Browne — dried in the kitchen and refreshed 


COMING TOGETHER. 


243 


by a rousing toddy, shared quite fairly by Larry — waited 
impatiently to interview Miles. 

That worthy’s sudden appearance and friendly aid had not 
been commented on, in the hurry of events ; nor had his 
rush to rescue the yacht seemed to Will unnatural. But 
what he could not account for was the man’s address, as of 
old acquaintance, to his mother and sister, and their natural 
acceptance of it. 

“Say, Gus,” he whispered, detaining her in the hall, 
“ your patent life-preserver there seems to have captured you 
and mamma.” 

“ Oh ! / think he’s just crimp !” the girl answered, fol- 
lowing her mother upstairs. ‘ ‘ I always have ! ” 

“Always ? ” Will’s eyes opened wide in amaze. 

“ Yes ; always,” she threw down in a whisper — “That is, 
ever since mamma made him manager of the farm ! ” 



244 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

a mother’s picture. 

In the quaint, old-time parlor of May Bower cottage, 
Will Browne paced restlessly ; trying to recall to his mind 
the sequence of events for the past few hours. And, with 
the effort, ever recurred a gush of thankfulness for Juny’s 
safety that dominated all else. 

Quickly recovering, she had insisted on walking to the 
cottage ; assisted slightly by Will and Larry, on either hand, 
as the trio moved up the lane. 

At the house, Will’s knowledge of closets and presses was 
quickly utilized ; and Juny soon found piles of old-fashioned 
belongings of female wardrobe, sufficient for several board- 
ing-school outfits. And, while she had changed her wet 
garments, Larry had built a huge fire in the kitchen ; 
whereat Will and he dried theirs in camp fashion. 

While so employed, Tip Miles strode into the room, with 
the salutation to Larry : 

“ Get outside, kid ! Sun’s healthier ! ” Then, turning to 
Will, he said : “So you got my note ? Thank God ! ” 

For a full half-hour the two men were closeted together ; 
then, as Miles stepped out into the red-glowing sunset, he 
beckoned to Larry and said to Will : 

“I’d better take the boy with me and send a warning, if -I 
see my chance to make the trip ! ” 

And, thus left alone, the cavalryman walked post in the 
parlor. Suddenly, he stopped and listened. 

A light step on the stair ; and Juny ran into the room, 
holding both hands out to him : 


A MOTHER'S PICTURE. 


245 

“ Oh ! Can I ever thank you enough, you dear, brave old 
Will?” 

“Yes; and a vast deal too much,” he answered rather 
sheepishly ; but not forgetting to take and hold her hands. 
“ I'm not the one to thank. But, Juny, it was terribly close ; 
and that little hero, Larry, was just in time ! ” 

The girl shuddered ; drawing closer to him : 

“It was terrible, Will! The slow-creeping flames, the 
black water below ! My bound hands ! ” Her face changed 
brightly. ‘ ‘ And that dear little Larry would not be 
thanked. Only said it was all in his line ; he did sensation 
for benefits ! ’ ’ 

“ But you are safe now, dear little girl ! And uncle’s odd 
wishes about the cottage standing just as it was have turned 
out well. How becoming that old lace dress is ! ” 

“ And this strange, pretty shawl Gus wrapped me in, for 
fear of cold,” the girl answered. 

“ A Mexican mantilla uncle gave his wife. She used to 
wear it with that very dress ! You know her room stands 
just as she left it, to go to New Orleans.” 

‘ ‘ How singular ! ” Juny said gravely. “ And dad is so de- 
voted to her memory ! Tell me more about her, Will.” 

“Let her speak for herself, Juny,” the man answered ; 
and, stepping to the alcove between the windows, he drew 
the heavy curtain from a full-length picture. “ That is her 
portrait ; always draped, since uncle returned to the cottage 
without her.” 

The girl gazed on the canvas, with mounting color and 
lips apart. Long silent, she cried at last : 

“ What a lovely, peaceful face ! O! Will, something in 
it draws me resistlessly to her. How different / might have 
been, had I ever called one like her — Mother ! ” 

“ Different, Juny !” Will cried. “ Who would wish you 
so ? ” 


246 JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 

“ Oh ! Will, I boasted to you — to dad — that I was brave ; 
that I’d give my life for him ! But when danger came — 
when the flames stretched hot hands for me — Will, I was 
only a girl ! I was afraid ! ” 

“And / was away ! ” The man spoke impulsively ; and, 
of course, inconsequently. ‘ ‘ You were in danger and I was 
ass enough not to be in danger, too ! ” 

“ But you came to me,” she said, very gently. 

“ Yes ; after the boy did ! Oh ! how can you ever forgive 
me, Juny ! ” 

“ Forgive , Will ? You, my best friend ! ” 

Somehow, he had both her hands again. The color rose 
high in her cheeks ; but she did not withdraw them. 

“ Friends ! ” he exclaimed. “ What is friendship ? ” 

The girl dropped her eyes. Her voice would shake, as 
she tried to answer saucily : “ I’m not good at conundrums, 
Will. Somebody said it was ‘ love without wings’ ! ” 

‘ ‘ And may ours take wings ? ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ What ! And fly away, Will ? ” 

“Yes, Juny ; to be replaced by — love ! Took in my eyes, 
darling ! Tell me ; do you care for me ? ” 

Slowly, but bravely, she raised her face to him. 

“ Why tell it, Will ? You know I do ! ” 

“ You really love me ? ” 

“Ever since that night at Shiners’ Gap,” she answered 
softly ; her eyes dropped again. “ The whole heart of the 
wild, untutored child went out to you then ; and since, she 
has never called it back again. Yes, Will,” she went on 
gently, as he drew her to his breast; “Yes; I am yours 
now ! But my heart is so full of love, of gratitude ! Let me 
kneel before her, who was dad’s wife, and thank Him who is 
the orphan’s Father ! ” 

“Yes, Juny, darling! The impulse of your pure girl- 
heart proves you tender, as you are brave and beautiful ! ” 


A MOTHER'S PICTURE. 


247 


He turned to the window ; the girl dropping on her knees 
before the picture. To him the quick changes of the past 
two days seemed scarcely real ; rather the baseless fabric of 
a dream. But, through the still, peaceful sunset falling on 
the distant Sound, curled the blue smoke of the smouldering 
ruins, to prove their strange reality. Turning to the girl, 
now rising slowly from her knees, he cried : 

“One thing, above all, is real, darling! You love me !” 
And his lips met hers with lingering pressure ; cut short, as 
both heard suddenly : 

“ A — hem ! Perceed, Cap’n ! IPs kerect ; yer may oscur- 
late!” And Tarry stepped in the window from the lawn. 
“ Don’t yer min’ me. Oh! I’ve been there ; I've played th’ 
lovyer’s part. Don’t make no mistake ; / ain’t proud ’cos 
I’m leadin’ man, and takes my benefits ! ” 

‘ ‘ By the way, Tarry, ’ ’ Will said, not without some blushes, 
“ playing hero here has postponed your benefit at the Grand, 
to-night.” 

“ Greens ! That ain’t nuthin’ ! ” the boy answered. “ Yer 
may jest combine ef that ’ere ben . wasn’t goin’ ter be a 
dead frost anyway ! / don’ care. Ef I fails in th’ leggit- 

termit, wy I’ll go in comic opperrer ! An’ then, wen I 
can’t git no mo’ singers ter howl on credit, wy I’ll h’open 
an agency !” 

“ Do you really want to be an actor?” Juny asked. 

“ If so,” Will added, 11 I’ll educate you, and we’ll get you 
an opening in a first-class theater.” 

“ Ye’re mity good, Cap’n ; and yer kin jest bet yer pile Hi 
thank ye ! But they don’t make ’em that way ! No, sir-r-r ! 
I want ter play th’ leggittermit in the country ; try her on 
the dog, wid one supe fur both armies an’ six dollars at th’ 
door! Then, nex’ day, I’ll retire ter my dormy, fake my 
pie-box an’ loll fur th’ puffer ! ” 

“D.o what f ” asked Juny, staring at him. 


24 g JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 

“Got’ m’ hotel, pack m’ trunk, hunt de station an’ wait 
fur a freight train!” cried Larry warmly. “ That's wot 
makes yer leggittermits ! Wy, any kid kin play ye’ sassi z-tee 
com z-dee ! But its hadwersity wot chips yer a chirping 
heavy, able ter sling a howlin’ Hamlit ! But, say ! I’m 
furgittin’ my messidge from th’ ole ’un. He says, ye keep 
yer teeth sharp, ’cos Kiotys is dang’rus, till theirn’s pulled ! ” 

“ Another favor you’ve done us, Larry,” Juny said, as 
Will sat at a table and hastily wrote a few lines. “Now, 
won't you let me do something for you ? ” 

“ I will ; yer may nominate ! ” the boy answered. “ Yer 
may inwitehne ter th’ wedd’n ! Cartt I see thro’ a millstone 
wid a hole ’n’t? Can't I smell h’orange blossums in der 
hair?” 

“Here, Larry,” Will said, hastening forward to spare 
Juny’s confusion. “ Here’s another fiver job for you. Take 
the next train and give this note to Captain Beagle. If 
there’s an answer, meet us at the city station at 8:oo o’clock.” 

“ Kerect, Cap’n. That ’ere dertective ’ll git this note, 
too-der-sweet ! Say ” — he added, nodding toward Juny — 1 
“That’s all sot, eh? Well, I know’d it ! Cartt I feel sim-^ 
turns of a gilt-edged nupshurl liannounce-w^ / Can't I 
hear them newspaper beats a-hollerin’ — ‘ Yere’s yer weddin’ 
in ’igh life ! Full descripshin o’ th’ dresses ! ’ Good bye, 
Miss ! Good bye, Cap’n ! Hi’m off ! ” And Larry bounded 
through the window and raced for the lane. 

“ The note was only to warn Beagle, my darling,” Will 
said, passing his arm round Juny. “The Coyote may escape 
Miles, and Beagle knows his lair ! ” 

He stooped and pressed his lips upon the girl’s ; and, as he 
did, the evening breeze brought to their ears the distance- 
mellowed cry : 

“ Yere's yer wedd’n in ’igh life ! Y ere' s yer latest diworce ! 
Honly five cents ! ” 


ANOTHER LI TTLE GAME. 


249 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

ANOTHER RITTEE GAME. 

When Miles left Will Browne at the cottage, his sole idea 
was to find the Coyote and fasten proof upon him, by his 
own confession of past villainies. 

That the forged papers, though harmless now, were in 
Hardy’s hands, Juny’s story proved ; but the rapid culmina- 
tion of events, within the past few hours ; the strange col- 
lection of all the parties at May Bower cottage ; his own 
forced exposure of himself— and partially of his plans — to 
Will Browne ; all these demanded rapid climax to that sensa- 
tional drama, of which he had been acting-manager for 
months. 

“ I must get the Coyote dead-to-ri gilts,” he said to himself, 
as he strode rapidly up the lane ; 4 ‘ and darned quick, too ! 

| And it must be done out of his own mouth, some way! ” 

As if in echo to his wish, Hardy appeared at the turn 
before him ; sitting moodily and feebly against a tree, with 
his head buried in his arms. As Miles approached, the 
gambler looked up ; haggard, ashen face, bloodshot eyes and 
drawn lips telling of the fierce struggle passed through his 
brain. But the first words he .spoke, though still showing 
nervous horror, proved that his mind had shaken off its 
delusion and was once more clear. 

“My God ! Tip,” he cried. “ How can you keep so calm 

and move round, as if ” he hesitated; the shudder 

again shaking him — “if nothing had happened! Haven’t 
you any nerves ? ’ ’ 

“ I don’t know about that,” Miles answered. “But I do 
know that I — that we both are in a bad box.” 


250 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


“Hush!" the other whispered nervously, giving an effort- 
ful glance over his shoulder. ‘ ‘ Hush ! I seem to hear it all 
the time ! I can hear that gal’s voice now, praying me to let 
her loose ! But, Tip,” he added hoarsely, shuddering again— 
“you know I did not mean to murder! You know it ! 1 

didn’t do it. I didn’t kill her! You set the match —you 
know I tried to bring the ladder! ” And the man groaned; 
again covering his face. 

“ I know it,” Miles answered soothingly. “ I’m more to 
blame than you. Brace up, man ! If you go on that way, 
you’ll get the shakes. Here, try a drop of this on your 
nerves,” and Tip Miles pulled out a flask of Colonel Bay- 
lor’s brandy, and, taking a small pull himself, passed it 
to Hardy. 

“Say, Coyote,” he added, as the other gulped mouthful 
after mouthful of the raw liquor, “there ain’t no chloral 
in that!" 

The gambler’s dull eye lit into a gleam of intelligence, as 
he turned it on the other ; and the stimulant of the liquor 
seemed to run through him. 

“That’s past,” he said sullenly, drawing a full deep 
breath. “ It was a fair deal and I won. You’d have done 
me the same, in my place.” 

“ Correct ! ” Miles answered, as they walked on together. 
“ L,et bygones be bygones ! I don’t hold any grudge.” 

“And we’re in the same boat, now,” Hardy answered ; 
the liquor waking up his intellect, numbed by overstrain and 
overiudulgence. “ Say, we’ll have to get out of this, ’fore 
the hue-an’-cry comes. It can’t be long. They’ll miss the 
gal, whatever chance it was brought her here ! ” And again 
he shuddered, covering his face. 

“Yes; we’re in the same boat,” Miles answered. “So 
brace up, Kyle. I guess I’m more responsible for that girl’s 
life than you are. But what to do is the question.” 


ANOTHER LITTLE GAME. 


25 r 

“Get out of this, some way,” Hardy answered, with a 
glance over his shoulder at the smouldering ruins. “ We 
must cut and lay low somewhere West— and forget that! 
Give me some brandy. ’ ’ 

“I’m with you,” Miles answered cheerily. “But we can’t 
go back to the city in daylight. Might lay low at the cottage 
yonder; only I’m expecting old Baylor and his sister 
down ’ ’ 

“ What ! ” screamed Hardy in amaze. “ You expect them 
here f And to talk about it like that ! ” 

“Well, Kyle,” Miles answered with aggravating coolness, 

4 4 one of us ought to keep his nerves, you know. What are 
you shaking about, man ? Take some brandy.” 

“Baylor coming here!" Hardy repeated. “Then he’s 
sure to find out ” 

Again he finished with a wild, shuddering glance at the 
fiery remains of the house. 

“ Perhaps he may,” Miles replied. 44 Perhaps there’s one 
way” — and he spoke very slowly — “ to prevent his taking 
the news back to town ! ” 

“ What do you mean ? ” gasped Hardy. 

“ Nothing — if you’re too dull to translate,” Miles answered. 
“ Fve nothing against the man. You say you have an old 
score to settle. I kyiow he’ll be at that cottage at sunset ; 
and / know the way into it ” 

Hardy stopped under the spreading trees and stared at 
Miles, wondering ; passing his hand across his brow in a 
dazed way. 

“If I thought it possible— if I dared"— he muttered. 
Then, with the ugly light coming back into his eyes, he 
asked abruptly : “Can you get me into the cottage ? So 
I’ll meet this Baylor just once more ? ” 

“ I said so,” Miles replied. “ But mind, Kyle, there’s to 
be no violence ” 


252 


JUNY : OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


A hard, wild laugh from the gambler broke iu on his 
speech. 

“You are a slick one, Tip ! ” he said. “ You’re a perfect 
preacher for pointing the evil way and giving good advice— 
Violence ! ” and the desperate ruffian seemed his worst self 
again. “Oh, no ! Tip ; no violence ! I’ll be as gentle as a 
woman with that high-bred, old Virginia gentleman ! Curse 
him! He’s been my rock-a-head all my life; and I just 
want to meet him once more. Violence ! Oh, no ! Tip ! ” 
and again the ugly laugh rang out. 

“Say, Kyle! your nerves are pretty well strung, I 
guess,” Miles said. “ I really didn’t think roasting one 
girl ” 

“Damnation! Shut your mouth ! ” Hardy cried, turn- 
ing fiercely to him ; yet letting one furtive glance steal out 
to those smouldering embers. “ I believe you want to drive 
me crazy with your jaw. Come along ! Get me into that 
house. Let me meet Randolph Baylor once — and we'll go 
West to-night ! ” 

Miles stood silent a moment, calculating his chances in the 
desperate game to trick the other. Did he let him escape 
now, another long chase would follow, for no result. He 
could not arrest him with the forged papers on him, without 
ugly inquiry into the fire ; and, most important, the main 
fact of all his effort to prove, by Hardy’s own lips, he could 
not reach by arrest for forgery alone. 

“I’ll do it!” he said suddenly. “Come on, Kyle, but 
your nerves are a little shaky. Tty a nip.” And, with a 
light touch of the brandy himself, he again proffered the 
flask to Hardy. The latter drained it ; shook himself with 
the sullen growl of a bull at bay ; and drew from his pocket 
the pistol he had taken from Miles. 

“Say, Kyle! That’s mine,” the other said. “ I’m not 
going into that house unarmed. You’ve a barker?” 


ANOTHER LITTLE GAME. 


253 


“ I don’t want the damned thing,” Hardy answered. “It 
talks too loud. This is sure and silent ! ” And tossing the 
pistol contemptuously to Miles, he showed the handle of a 
knife above his vest. “ Come on ! let’s get inside,” he added 
with a shudder, as his eyes again wandered to the smoking 
pi*le. ‘ ‘ It’s getting cold out here ! ” 

They turned toward the cottage, and a rapid walk brought 
them to the heavily-massed shrubs beneath the parlor 
windows. 

“We’ll get in here and wait for him,” Miles whispered. 
“ Cet me go first and reconnoitre. If all’s safe, I’ll whistle.” 

As he turned away, Hardy seized him so fiercely by the 
shoulder that Miles instinctively grasped the pistol in his 
breast. 

“ Took here, Tip Miles ! ” the other said, in a hoarse whis- 
per. “If you’re trying to trick me now, I’ll slit Ho! 

ho ! ho ! ” — he interrupted himself with a blood-curdling 
laugh — “ Why you dare n’t. You're deeper in than I am ! 

You touched off the old barn ! You ” 

“ Miirdered the girl ? Say it, Kyle,” Miles said, looking 
full in his eyes. “ Why don’t you ? ” 

“ S-sk / for God’s sake ! ” the other groaned, with a shud- 
der. “ No ! You dare not. I’m a fool ! ” 

“ I believe you are,” Miles answered roughly, shaking off 
Hardy’s grasp. “I’ll take back my offer. Come, let’s get 
to town and escape ! ” 

“ Never ! ” the other growled through his set teeth. “ I’m 
too near now to miss him this time ! Besides, the papers are 
worth more with him out of the way.” 

Miles looked fixedly at him a moment in silence. Then 
he said : “ Well ! You* ll do ! ” 

The next instant he had entered the window of the cottage. 


2 54 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

KNOTTING THE) THREADS. 

“You got my message ? ” Miles said, as Wilmot Browne 
advanced anxiously to meet him. “ Well, he’s there ! Lay 
low ; and warn the gal to keep herself and the others out of 
sight, until you signal. Got a pistol ? That’s all right. I 
think / can manage him ; but two shots are better than one. 
He’s a real dangerous beast ; and he’s half-crazy besides. Get 
behind that curtain ; and, mind ! don’t shoot, unless he fixes 
me ! ” 

“ I pledge you my word,” Will answered. 

He stepped into the alcove ; and Miles — leaning from the 
window, with the purpling reflections of the sunset lighting 
his grizzled head — whistled the low signal. 

Hardy cautiously left the shrubbery and stepped into the 
window. 

‘ ‘ So the coast’s clear? ” he growled. ‘ ‘ Curse this stealing 
into a house like a sneak-thief ! ” 

“ You’re very squeamish, I know ; but j^ou’ll get used to 
it,” Miles answered, speaking very low, but very distinctly. 

‘ * I thought a dash at burglary might stimulate your nerves, 
after forgery — child-stealing — arson — ” 

“ Hush! ” Hardy broke in nervously. “ You know I’m 
no soft, Tip ; but I cayit forget that girl’s cries ; nor her 
eyes, when she pleaded with me not to tie her ! ” 

“ Nor me, neither, Kyle,” Mr. Miles returned consolingly . 
“You see, / don’t mind a little arson; but then, this girl- 
roasting ” 

“ Hush ! Hush , I say ! ” cried Hardy hoarsely, holding 
up his hands and staring blankly at Miles. “ Curse me ! 


KNOTTING THE THREADS. 


255 


Tip, if I can make you out to-day ! That girl’s death doesn’t 
seem to faze your nerves ! ’ ’ 

Hardy approached the table, where Miles had seated him- 
self, and stared across it. Again a dull, suspicious gleam 
rose to his eyes ; and his hand nervously went to his breast. 
Again it faded, as he added pleadingly : 

“Tip, you will stand by me? We’ll have a final settle- 
ment with this Baylor ” 

“Yes, Kyle Hardy, we’ll have a final settlement — in 
full!" And the older man looked across that narrow 
table, with his elbow resting on it. But in the hand 
that dropped beneath its edge gleamed the firmly-gripped 
revolver. 

“ Yes, Kyle, we’ve run together some nine years ; and, all 
that while, you’ve played me for the Jack of Fools ! ” 
“Well, perhaps I did, Mr. Jackpot Miles.” 

“And all the while,” Miles went on slowly, “ I’ve played 
you for a bigger fool than I was. ’ ’ 

“ Pshaw ! We’re in the same boat,” Hardy answered sul- 
lenly. “ We won’t quarrel about words.” 

“ Nor about facls. Why, man, I was complimenting you. 
If not a fool, you’re — worse. Because you hated Randolph 
Baylor, without real cause, you stole his signatures and 
forged vouchers to ruin him ! ” 

“Well, if I did?” growled Hardy. “I had good cause 
to hate him ” 

“Then you stole his child, after saving her from the 
wrecked steamer in the Gulf. You told me so, Kyle ! ” 

“So I did,” Hardy broke in. “ But I never meant ” 

“Those forged papers are in your breast pocket, now,” 

Miles went on, relentless. “ And that girl child is ” 

“Where?” gasped Hardy, crouching on the table, but 
glancing fearfully over his shoulder, in the direction of the 
other’s fixed stare. 


256 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


“ Where f Why, dead!" Miles answered. “You told 
me yourself that you made way with Baylor’s gal baby, 
eighteen years ago ! ’ ’ 

“So, I did, and I can’t get that child — I can’t get May Red- 
fern, her mother — out of my mind, to-day ! Damnation ! 
I’m losing my grip ! I’ve got nerves, Tip! Say,” and he 
leaned eagerly across the table, whispering hoarsely, 4 ‘ do 
you believe they come back ? The dead ones ? I do ! I 
believe they are haunting me ! ” 

Shuddering, with fearful eyes and clenched hands, Kyle 
Hardy sat staring into vacancy toward the door. Buried in 
his horrors, he did not hear what Miles’ quick ear caught ; a 
girl’s light step on the stair ; a slower man’s step following. 

“ Yes ; I believe she used to come back,” Hardy mumbled. 
“ It is years now, since she haunted me ; but she comes 
again ! Poor May ! I can look into her eyes now ; I can 

see her as she last Great God ! May ! Am I mad ? 

Do the dead haunt ? ” 

With a wild yell, the gambler rose, as he glanced into the 
mirror before him ; his knees trembling, his eyes protruding 
and great sweat damps standing on his brow. 

Juny, pausing in the doorway as he spoke, made a quick 
gesture to warn Colonel Baylor back. 

“Only your conscience haunts you, Kyle Hardy,” she 
said. “I am not dead, as you hoped ! ” 

At the .sound of the voice behind him, the trembling 
gambler slowly turned, tearing his eyes from the reflection 
in the mirror. 

“ Not dead ? After all these years?” he muttered, passing 
his hand across his brow. 4 ‘ That same dress. Oh ! May ! 
Speak to me — tell me ! My God ! Those eyes ! Now, she 
looks like the girl in the burning house ! Can it be Juny ? ” 

“It is Juny,” the girl cried, “who lives to denounce 
you as ” 


KNOTTING THE THREADS. 


25 7 


Crouching low, the gambler thrust his hand into his breast, 
ready to spring ; but Will stepped before the curtain cover- 
ing him with a pistol, the same instant that Miles’ wrist 
twisted the revolver close to his face. 

“ Drop it, Coyote!” he said slowly. “Drop it, or I’ll 
blow your roof off ; and that’s too good for — Jack Har- 
rington ! ” 

“Jack Harrington ! ” echoed Colonel Baylor, rushing into 
the door. “Jack Harrington, here J ” 

All fear and doubt passed from Hardy’s face. The stronger 
hate of years cleared his brain and told him he was tricked 
and lost ! In their place rose a look of hideous hate — fiercer 
and more fell because impotent ! With glaring eyes he 
hissed through his set teeth : 

“Yes — curse you ! here — and hereafter ! I am Jack Har- 
rington. Tricked by this soft ! But I’d have paid you, this 
time ! ” 

“ Oh ! Dad, I’m so happy,” Juny cried, embracing Colonel 
Baylor. “ For now the forged papers can harm you no 
more.” 

“ Damn you ! You’ve got the age on me now ! ” Hardy 
said brutally ; and he hurled the papers on the floor. “ There 
they are ! but there are other modes of vengeance, Randolph 
Baylor — and if I do not use them, may I die before the 
dawn /” 

With a quick, backward spring, he reached the window 
and disappeared through it before Miles could aim. Then, 
as Will rushed to the window, leveling his pistol, the colonel 
struck it up. 

“ No ! let him go,” he said. “ She plead for him once!” 
And his eyes, wet with tears of mingled memory and glad- 
ness, rested on the picture. Suddenly they fell upon Juny, 
then traveled back to the canvas again, as a strange, yearn- 
ing look crept into them. 

17 


258 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


“And, dad, dear,” the girl said, creeping her hand around 
his neck, “ again we have to thank this good friend.’ ’ 

“ Stow thanks,” Miles answered grimly. “As for friends, 
dodge ’em. When you’re up, they use you ; down, they 
kick you. And as for you, Lady Lofty,” he added to Mrs. 
Browne, as she entered the room, “henceforth I’ll trouble 
you no more.” 

“Sister!” exclaimed the surprised colonel. “Do you 
know this man ? ” 

“Yes, brother ; shameful, hideous as the confession ” 

But Juny had flown to Mrs. Browne, throwing her arms 
about her neck and whispering in her ear : 

‘ 4 Oh ! Aunt ! Do not tell dad ; spare him ! ” And Mrs. 
Browne, caressing Juny proudly and tenderly, drew herself 
up, and with prideful scorn regarded Miles, as she whispered 
back: “I hardly expected it of you, my dear. Very 
proper pride ; very ! ” 

Then in the awkward silence, Miles moved slowly round 
the table : 

44 There’s too many a-dealin’ to finish this game,” he said 
quietly. 44 Randolph Baylor, for twenty years Jack Harring- 
ton followed you with deadly hate, because he loved 

May Red fern ! ” 

44 Loved — my wife ! ” 

“ From the hour I learned that, in the Shiners’ Gap, I’ve 
followed him ; for I loved her , too!" 

He paused ; turned to the picture ; then added, with 
trembling voice : 

“ Don’t speak — let me finish. From the hour she married 
you, your proud kin despised the poor girl, worth them all ! 
And I swore to your proud sister there, though we had 
been sweethearts, too, I’d shield her reputation by ” 

“ Heavens !” cried Mrs. Browne. “It’s all out! How 
can I hold up my head before society ! ” 


KNOTTING THE THREADS. 


259 


With wondering flush upon his face, Will started forward, 
exclaiming : 

“ Mother ! What is all this ? Who is this man? 5 ’ 

But before any could speak, Miles clasped his hands and, 
with eyes softened by brimming tears, fixed upon the por- 
trait, whispered : 

“ Miles Redfern ; her brother ! ” 

A pause of astonishment for one instant ; then Will broke 
it with the cry : 

“ Now, I see it all ! Uncle, his hand has restored you his 
niece — May Redfern’s child — stolen by the ” 

But, ere he could finish, Juny was at the colonel’s heart, 
with the glad cry : 

‘ ‘ Dad ! My own dad ! ” 





2<5o 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRDS STORY. 


CHAPTER XL. 

THE ENDING OF A CONFESSION. 

When Captain Hunter Beagle had sent Will Browne on 
his wild quest after the papers at Browne Beach, he turned 
his whole attention to restoring the consciousness of the beau- 
tiful woman, lying so still and white upon the bed. And, 
though little assisted by the old quadroon — who, dazed by 
the recent scene, was helpless as a child and only wrung her 
hands and moaned — he was rewarded by seeing the color 
begin to return to her face. 

At last, with a deep sigh, she unclosed her dark, liquid 
eyes ; and, after gazing vaguely at him a moment, extended 
her hand languidly. 

“It is very good of you, Monsieur Jonson,” she said 
gently, as he took it in both of his. “ I have been ill — no ? 
Oh ! I remember now ! It was he who threatened me ! who 
tried to kill maman ! And // ” She sat bolt upright, her 
eyes wild. “Oh ! Monsieur, have I killed him ? ” 

“No; he is safe,” the man replied; adding sotto voce: 
“The more’s the pity ! ’’ 

“I remember it all now,” the girl went on; dropping 
back wearily upon her pillow, with trembling lips and brim- 
ming eyes. “ I know how you warned me ; how I proved 
it ! Ah ! Monsieur, you meant well, but you have made me 
very — very miserable ! ” 

Oh! Iyili, Beagle cried impulsively, “do not look at 
it that way ! You had to know it some day. The sooner 
the better for you.” 

“ Ah ! Monsieur, but you do not know— all ! You do not 
know. He was everything to me ! I am not as another ” 


THE ENDING OF A CONFESSION. 


261 


She turned her face away from him ; adding in French : 
“Ah ! Maman, how shall I tell him ! ” 

But the old quadroon — her natural stoicism returned now — 
shrugged her shoulders and left the room. 

“Yes, I do know, mademoiselle,” the detective said gently 
and respectfully. “ I know more than you suspect ; indeed, 
I know all ! ” 

Only her wide, wondering eyes answered ; and he went on : 
“As you are frank to me, let me be true to you. I am not 
what I seem to you, but a detective — a spy. I came into 
your house simply to watch the movements of this wretch 

you have driven from you ” 

She made a quick gesture of dissent ; half rising from the 
pillow. 

“Stop ! Monsieur,” she said, “you shall not so speak of 
him!” 

“ I speak only truth,” he rejoined quickly. “You do not 
know how vile, how unworthy he is ! ” 

“ Perhaps not,” she said,, again turning her face, as a red 

flush crept over it. ‘ ‘ But I do know that I love him ! ” 

Beagle looked blankly at the rounded cheek, flushed and 
soft, turned from him. He was posed. 

“Yet,” he said gently, “ you proved all I said, and more. 

Last night you saw your rival ” 

“Ah ! You know that ? ” 

“ Indeed, mademoiselle, I know everything ,” he answered. 
“ In tracking him , I was forced to learn everything of you. 

I know your past history— your relations to him ” 

“ Yes ; that I am not his ” The flush deepened over 

her face. 

“His wife? Thank God! I do know that,” he said 
warmly. “Fortunate, indeed, is the accident that saved 
you that lasting disgrace ! I know that, as a child, he 
deceived you and your mother ; I know that you have been 


262 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


true to him as few wives are to wronging husbands ; I know 
that he has neglected, ill-used you and * ’ 

The girl was staring at him, with lips apart. Twice she 
had tried to speak ; and now, only a supreme effort forced the 
words : 

“ But you do not know that I about my ” She 

covered her face with her hands, sobbing. 

“ Your birth? Yes; I know that, too,” he finished very 
gently. “ And I know that you are an angel /” And again 
he seized her hands, taking them from her face with gentle 
force. 

‘ ‘ Monsieur ! ’ ’ Tili could only gasp ; her wonderful eyes 
wide, the dampened masses of her glorious hair falling about 
her. 

“ Yes ; knowing all I know, watching you as I have 
watched — first from business, then from gentler motive— I 
tell you, Tib Duvrai, I love you ! ” 

“Ah ! Monsieur, you are mad !” the girl cried,* bewild- 
ered. “I, with base blood in my veins — my reputation 
gone ! I, whom you have seen cling to the feet that spurned 
me ! You love me ? ’ ’ 

“ I do ! ” the man said gently. “Thank God, I do. Save 
the love for my poor old mother, it is the first honest feeling 
I have known since boyhood. I would deem it privilege — 
honor — to spend my whole life to make yours happy ! ’ ’ 

And speaking these remarkable words, Captain Hunter 
Beagle bowed over the Octoroon’s hands he held and covered 
them with kisses. 

She did not withdraw them. There was something so 
delicious in the new incense of respect — something so much 
higher than the brute passion Hardy had shown, even in; his 
softest moods — that the girl closed her eyes, listening, without 
the power to repel what really she valued nothing, for its 
own sake. 


THE ENDING OF A CONFESSION. 


263 


“Yes,” the man went on, “ I would study your wishes 
only to gratify them ; I would make new wants for you, only 
to fill them ! Ah ! Ifili, you listen to me. You do not scorn 
the love I offer ” 

“ No , Monsieur!” The girl was on her feet; her pale 
face, framed in its masses of loose hair, turned to him. “ No, 
indeed, Monsieur, I do not despise your feeling ! I do not 
scorn the words that tell it ! But I am startled and surprised 
that you — who know my past — who know my blood — who 

know that I love another, should offer me ” Suddenly 

she stopped, looking sadly at him. 

“ Finish,” he said gently. “ Should offer you love — devo- 
tion ” 

“And — insult /” The woman’s voice was soft and low; 
there was no bitterness in it, only a depth of sadness that 
seemed to come from her heart’s core and to lay its signet 
deep and strong upon her face, as she spoke. 

“No; I know what you would say!” she went on 
quietly. ‘ ‘ That the love you offer me is different from his ! 
But, oh ! is the shame it would bring different ? Is the one 
little claim I have to the pity — if not the respect — of man 
or woman, not wanting in your words ? The claim that I 
loved him as a child ; that I sinned thro’ love alone ! Ah ! 
Monsieur, if you could, read the bitterness in the hearts of 
my accursed race — white in skin and taste and sentiment — 
pure in our loves and gentle in our needs ! Yet we are 
outcasts from all that is pure and good and gentle— not by 
our own sin, but by the sin of those whom God’s command 
should teach us to revere ! Ah ! no, Monsieur ; talk not to 
me of love ! Do not mistake, misdeem that pure word as / 
have done ! Could you wash that one black drop from all my 
blood ; could you undo the sin that crime before my birth 
has forced on me, were I a pure woman of your own race — 
then what you say might not seem mocking, or insult j 


264 /C/NY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 

Nay ! ” She was walking the room now, with quick, uneven 
tread ; her eyes aflame, a burning spot in either cheek ; her 
voice low still, but saturated with feeling so intense that it 
vibrated painfully on the man’s ear. “Nay / Monsieur, I 
understand you do not mean it for either ; that you fancy 
you care for me ; that, perhaps, you really love me — now ! 
But what am I ? Could the cast-off plaything of another 
become your mistress now, when ” 

“ Stop ! You shall not do such injustice to me,” the man 
cried. “ Far less shall you do it to yourself! The love I 
offered you is not that love. It is truer, better than you 
know ! ” 

She stood before him transfixed — radiant. The glow in 
her cheeks burned crimson, for the wild, half-formed imag- 
inings of a whole life ; the shapeless yearning for a purer 
love ; the wild craving for the right to that and to the name 
of wife suddenly stood embodied to her hope ! The man’s 
words, his earnestness, his persistence to condone the past 
by the future, all stunned the poor girl’s better sense ; and, 
with wildly throbbing heart, she stood one second, a beau- 
tiful statue of Aspiration ! The next — with a great gasp, 
she fell upon her knees, the crimson torrent of her life rush- 
ing from her lips, as nothing might stay it ! 

Wildly screaming for the mother, Beagle quickly caught 
the girl, laying her head low with her arms at her side. 
Then he rushed down to the kitchen, seized the old woman 
there and cried : ‘ ‘ Salt ! Quick ! All the salt you have ! ” 

Into the withered face flashed the lightning of intuition, 
as she caught the red stains upon his hands and breast. 
Seizing a box of salt, she thrust it into his hands, crying : 
“ Quick ! She sail die ! ” 

Then she followed his rush up the steps, with terror- 
winged feet; shaking her head and moaning: “ Encore ! 
Sail thees coup keel ? Ah ! mo' dieu ! Sail m’ L,ili die ? ” 


EVASIT! 


265 


CHAPTER XLL 

EVASIT ! 

Larry had borne the note from Will to Beagle’s house, and 
the yellow-ochre Memnon had once more become vocal. 

The sudden and shocking illness of the Octoroon — to 
whose aid her son had summoned her — seemed to have 
thawed the frozen fonts of speech within her. 

“Hunter is not here,” she said, recognizing the boy. 
“ But, if the message from Browne is very important, you’d 
best take it over there!” And she came out on the steps 
and pointed to Hardy’s house. 

“Kerect! Yer kin tumble!” Larry replied. “I know 
th’ shebang ; Kurn’l deller Platter’s habode!” 

“ Go quietly ! ” the woman answered, relapsing into yellow- 
ochre. ‘ ‘ Lady very ill ! ” 

Beagle had never left the side of the plainly dying girl, 
save to rush ta his own house to summon his mother and 
telephone for a noted doctor. 

But, first, he had crammed salt into her mouth until the 
violence of the hemorrhage ceased ; then laying her on the 
bed as tenderly as a mother might lift her infant. And, 
meanwhile, the poor old quadroon had aided him effectively ; 
uttering ever a string of heart-broken jargon, of which the 
tone alone conveyed any meaning to him. 

The doctor had applied stiptics ; had carefully examined 
the patient ; the deep crimson flow had ceased. 

“Will she live?” Beagle asked, with intense anxiety. 

The man of science shook his head. 

“A very doubtful case;” he said. “Very! She is a 
very fragile woman ; temperament highly nervous, and the 


266 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


flow has been immense. It is not from the lungs, but hem- 
orrhage of some great vessel. She may react— possibly / 
She may — more probably — go out like a candle ! If she 
moves at all, repeat this mixture.” 

Hunter Beagle stood in the hall a moment, after the doctor 
left. Then he ascended the stairs, with a strange pallor on 
his usually immobile face. 

The old quadroon was sitting on the bed’s edge, drawn up 
into a knot ; her apron pulled tight over her grey hair. She 
was softly stroking one of the fair, slim hands in her wrinkled, 
brown paw; furtively stooping to kiss it, sometimes, with 
the fidelity of a dumb animal, rather than the humanity of 
affection. 

The man turned the gas very low ; stole softly to the girl’s 
side, taking her hand tenderly. Gently he pressed a finger 
on the rounded wrist. There was scarcely a flutter in the 
pulse; sometimes it seemed to stop altogether. 

Night fell mirk and starless over the city ; passing sounds 
ceased in the narrow Place, and still those two strangely 
mated watchers sat, silent and sad, on either side of the 
white, beautiful statue of womanhood, seemingly as lifeless 
as the marble it resembled. 

parry’s step upon the porch caught the trained ear of the 
detective, and slipping noiselessly down stairs, he read Will 
Browne’s note, with clouding brow. 

“Wait ! ” he said, with brevity worthy of his mother; and 
turning into the parlor, he wrote rapidly : 

“At Hardy s house. Lili rapidly dying. He is certain to 
come here before flight. Will watch for him A 

Handing the note to the boy, he said : “For Browne, at 
the station. Do not miss him, on your life ! ” And as Tarry 
sped away on his errand, the detective again ascended to his 
vigil by the sick girl. As he went, he drew from his pocket 
the slim, bright handcuffs, testing their springs. 


EVA SIT! 


267 


‘ ‘ They hold well ! ” he said grimly, as he set the locks. 
“ I have proved that ; and I’ll snap them over that devil’s 
wrists — so help me God ! ” 

Dull and leaden-footed the minutes tread on each other’s 
heels. The clock chimed eight, then nine ; and Lili lay still 
and cold, almost pulseless. Ever and again the rough man — 
with more than woman’s gentleness — moistened the pale lips 
with brandy ; then sat down again — to wait ! And all that 
while the old quadroon never stirred ; sitting there curled 
into a wrinkled knot, her bleared eyes fixed upon her daugh- 
ter’ s face. 

At last, on the stillness of the Place grated carriage wheels ; 
women descended ; and again Beagle slipped down stairs. 
To his surprise he found Juny and Gus, with Will Browne 
and Lake. At the latter he stared in infinite surprise, as 
Will said : 

“ The ladies insisted on coming. We had your note at the 
train. They have met the — lady and sympathize with her.” 

“ Uncle and mamma drove home,” Gus said in a whisper. 
“ We can only stay a moment. We made an excuse of stop- 
ping at a drug store.” 

“ I knew aunt would never consent,” Juny said. “ And I 
felt I must see that poor girl. Is she very ill ? ” 

“111 to death, I fear,” Beagle answered huskily. “If 
you’d see her alive, go up at once. Go softly, please ! ” 

The girls ascended ; and the detective— who had never 
taken his eyes from Lake — said shortly : 

“ Mickey, how in the world did you ” 

“ Never mind ; I’ll explain later. It’s all right !” Lake 
replied, nervously enough to attract Will’s notice. 

“Do you know anything about this man?” he asked 
shortly. 

“He’s all right,” Beagle answered. “ There’s nothing on 
him. I know him as salesman in my sister’s notion store, 


268 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


in Brooklyn. He’s a good one, if he wasn’t a crank on fancy 
advertising dodges, mock art and sich. But for his 
wife ” 

Will moved a step nearer the open door. “Come here! ” 
he said to Lake, quietly, but in a tone that brooked no delay. 
And as the Evolutionist obeyed, he added, still quietly: 
“You’d better go. In a scene like this, I prefer not to kick 
you out ” 

Only Beagle heard the words. The art lecturer had dis- 
appeared, and Will, turning to the detective, whispered : 

“What did you say his wife's name was? ” 

“Why his, of course,’’ Beagle answered. “Mrs. Mickey 
Brannigan.” 

He closed the door and motioned Will to the stairs. Si- 
lently the two young girls stood at the bed of death, gazing 
upon the closed blue lids ; the half-closed blue lips, through 
w 7 hich no breathing seemed to come — with woman’s pity for 
suffering womanhood. Then Juny knelt and lifted gently 
the fair, cold hand upon the coverlid, her eyes wet with 
sympathy. 

As she did so, slowly the trembling lids unclosed and 
Lili’s calm, black eyes rested upon the clear, blue ones. 
Then they filled with infinite tender pity, as they turned to 
the crouching figure of the old quadroon. 

“Hush, Lili!” Beagle whispered warningly. “You must 
not speak, the doctor said ! ’’ 

A faint, sad smile flickered a moment round the blue 
lips. Then she faintly beckoned Juny closer, and the girl 
drew her fair, bright face nearer the Octoroon’s. In a faint, 
hoarse whisper, heard only by her, Lili said : 

‘ ‘ So good to come ! Last night made me feel not wholly 
an outcast ! I am dying — fast ! Would you mind kissing 
me again ? ” 

“Mind? Poor girl ! ” 


EVASIT! 


269 

And Juny’s round arms crept around the cold breast of the 
girl ; her warm lips pressed the cold blue ones in a kiss that 
was a sacrament ! 

The black eyes softened with grateful love upon the blue ; 
then, with pitying tenderness, they once more turned upon 
the aged figure there ; and, as the cold hand gently pressed 
the wrinkled one that held it, they softly closed. 

Suddenly they opened wide and clear — filled with the Love 
unutterable. A Benign Hand seemed to pass over the face, 
filling its drawn lines with peace and beauty of another land ! 

Reverently Juny rose and looked down upon the face of 
the girl, passing, as she knew, to a better life ; and her hand 
slipped into Will’s with a pure trust that went to his heart. 

Then once the blue lips moved : 

‘ ‘ Maman ! adieu ! ” And they were still. 

For the first time the old quadroon moved. Without a 
sound, almost without motion, she lay beside the daughter, 
who had left her sorrows here and gone home ! 

Will Browne had driven the girls home and was now back, 
sitting on the dark, back porch with Hunter Beagle, while 
women’s hands had done last offices for what was left of Lili. 

Neither man spoke now. Beagle had said : 

“ He’s sure to come this way. He’ll not risk the street. 
Let me take him. I ask it as a — right ! ” 

So, they sat awhile. Suddenly the hinge of the little gate 
creaked ; and Beagle’s hand warningly pressed Will’s knee, 
as he rose and glided into deep shadow by the door. Feet 
tiptoed up the path, ascended the low steps and crossed the 
porch. The door opened softly and a gleam from the hall 
lamp fell on Kyle Hardy’s hand, as he released the knob. 
That instant it flashed back from bright metal ; a sharp click 
rang on the night ; and, ere the gambler knew, a vice-like 
grip was on his other wrist. With an oath, he hurled his 


270 


JUNY: OR ONLY ONE GIRL'S STORY. 


full weight toward his assailant. In the darkness, Beagle 
stepped back ; and the thud of his brass knuckles brought 
Hardy to his knee, half-stunned. Ere he could recover, the 
second click had sounded sharp and clear. 

The law had overtaken Jack Harrington. 

“Get up, you brute ! M Beagle’s voice was low ; muffled 
by suppressed fury. “ I don’t want to hurt you — before you 
hang ! ” 

Hardy rose sullenly, stupid from the blow, as Beagle 
pushed open the door. 

“ I don’t understand this assault! ” he growled. “On my 
own premises. What ! You , Mr. Johnstone ! and — Will 
Browne ! Oh ! now I see ! ” 

Then he kept dogged silence, while Beagle went to the 
door, whistled low and said to the officer who came : 

“Call two men from Second-avenue station, Cassidy. I 
have a dangerous prisoner.” 

“Can’t I see my wife ? ” Hardy asked at length. 

Did looks kill, Hardy had died in his tracks, .so venomous 
was the hate that gleamed from Beagle’s eyes, as he said 
slowly : 

“You murdered her ! She lies dead upstairs ! ” 

Ashen — with staring eyes— the gambler gave one great 
gasp and staggered against the wall. Trying to speak, his 
eyes rather than his lips asked Browne for confirmation. 

“It is true ! ” Will answered. “ She broke a blood-vessel 
when you fled to-day. She died an hour ago.” 

The man’s great chest rose and fell, in fruitless effort for 
speech, ere he muttered hoarsely : 

“May I see her before they come?’’ 

Beagle made as if to speak, but Will Browne answered 
quickly : “ Yes ; it is your right.” 

Slowly the three men passed up to the chamber of death, 
where only Mrs. Beagle watched. 


EVASIT! 


271 


Hardy passed to the bedside and looked silently down 
upon the woman he had loved and won and ruined. 

And, as he looked, he seemed to change before their eyes. 
The brutal, dogged expression it had worn since capture, 
dropped from his face like a mask. The present left him, 
and the hand of the past, with softening touch, pressed on 
his features. Out of them fell the hardness of recent years ; 
and the gentleness of earlier days crept into the eyes that 
gazed so steadily upon the still face beneath them. 

Gradually he sank upon his knees, his fettered hands rest- 
ing on the bed, his head drooping lower — nearer — until it 
pressed close the cold cheek of the dead ! 

So, awhile ; silence unbroken in that room. 

One long, convulsive shiver passed through Hardy’s frame. 

Then he was still again ; so still, and still so long, that it 
grew unbearable ! 

Will Browne bent over and softly touched his shoulder. 
No responsive movement came. Beagle glanced at Browne, 
with meaning in his eyes, and together they raised him 
gently. 

No drop of blood stained the death-robe of the woman 
who had died for him ; but the buck handle of Kyle Hardy’s 
knife was jammed hard against his breast — the blade in his 
heart ! 

He had gone to answer before that Bar where Judgment 
may never err ! 


FINIS. 


* 


p* 





















THE GOSSIP PHIHTIflG GO. 

OFFERS THE TRADE AND PUBLIC THESE OTHER 
BOOKS OF SAME AUTHOR I 

CREOLE CARNIVALS; Their Origin , Prog- 
ress and Results . 

40 pp., 6x9 inches. Illustrated .... 25c. 

“THE ROCK OR THE RYE;” Travesty of 
“ The Quick or the Dead.” 

26th Edition, Illustrated (or in the Munro 

“Library of American Authors”) . . . 25c. 

CROSS PURPOSES; An Experience in Seven 
Stages. 

130 pp., Red Line Edition, Full Page Illus- 
trations 50c. 

THE SOLDIERS 7 SOUVENIR. 

Complete History of over 50 Noted Na- 
tional Guard Organizations, with 40 
Full Page Illustrations, reproduced 
from photographs ; 1 20 pp., 9x11 

Inches, Engraved Cover 50c. 

IN PREPARATION : 

FOUR YEARS IN REBEL CAPITALS; From 
Original Papers of 1862, '63, ’64. 


USUAL TRADE DISCOUNTS. 

Either book mailed, post-paid, on receipt of 
rice, by 

THE GOSSIP PRINTING C0„ 

MOBILE, ALA. 



























































- 





























































































































. 















t 


/ 








JX NT 

* •> N 0 


» I ' 


V 


'/ 


A 


*V 


4- s „v . . 


% \\ K£ * # v "^, , w • .. 

> ./ ,. -fc <\ 

1 * « <p jA % ( 0 s '• 

£g» " **■ r = 

JSSO = \° 

» -is 3 > * » 

* •'l O 

n ? ' O' ~o , 

.O' ^ " /■ £> 

A O ’ *■ ji ?> % < . 

<A *. -l\‘*>v A. ' << 

' V 


r- '^. . v> , .*. £ 

o tP r .O' _- -A F- - ^ 

</' i\' r ^ f V _ ‘S'’ 

W; / % v- w* A" 

v A • * * * A 


A*’ 



*"S c> -4 
y ., . * A O 



‘ </> 


' A a A o a A o R7 

iikM : * k a 


>- i. A/ 

.' #’ % ,To 3 ’ •o-’ c o, '•»,,, 

0 *. .* 



c<. .s' * / »5 /A = v>„ (0 

•<• •• ris: ' f ' 

. ^ o = W/ Vv 'W^ * <A A> - aAAMT' ~ A A 

v * „0 % A-AA '0 \ *,<Q 0 F* *0 -?• 

* -~ v \ s .A x ' o • A a ^ ^/, 4 s s '0 

' * # * c 0 * 6 * , 0 \O"* 


\'\W 5 ?s ■* r ^ 

‘ tt * A S i O' 

. 0 *S 0 &* % *0 iObw. • 

■"o 0 X - A ^ 

%, »■>*«' i°' 


'V . *«, 

.O' * ^ * 0 / C' 

%,- X V % 

/A O x/‘ ^ 

i£K £ / ^ ^ 



%k. ^. V , AN 

^ , V 0^ 


<V 

V 


.0' ^ 


c? <s. » wmW ’ o 

s * aO > * 

“ '.O' . . <. J 0 4 X ^ K , 

c 0 N 0 
; 6 ^ 


c<- 

c- *. 

* 

, v v x * 0 / C‘ 

,0 * *- ,& « ^ ax 

' s : ^ v 

^ ,/i , 

■^/ 

3 , - 
<\ Y 

’ "* 7 ft fi S c^ V 1 » # "<fi 

0° s x ^ 


. c- v» v'^ 

1 0 '' > 



««» ; 

x°°. 

cf* <y , ^ . C _ 

^ ,0‘ ^ ' * 0 r & 

' “> /'V r ' ., V ^ 

i / - 








* ^ CA A 

y „ . -i A 

<?* a) o n G 

1 y'O » 


' J .r. ' ' ( a ' S l 

Q 0~ ^ ' 

^ J 


^ o X° ©x. *■ 

V\ N 05T 1 N ^ 

yyv .' O. ri- y XK>^T- <, (A r~. , 

i i O K .* r *>. *no’/ ^ * t i O \ N 

\- n _ ^/z ^ o v - ir *0^. V:* \ > s 

■%- -X s ® 




v K a -i 

0 , ^ A 

1 8 « ^ / t 0 N c * • o_ 

^ V? c x 'Sik r ‘Kr> A 

- s . -- « ^ V » 

i \° °x> '- * „•’ - 





<.0 £. 6 t: 

V* s' y A v 

N .A ' . * *« £> -X 



^ A 




x. y 0 , >. ^ / 

V. ,\\ , 0 

A x 

-y 'f J . A 

s»r< a o =A 

' ^ . N' 

X° °c. - ^ 




\**Mr~* o? 

ft .. . , * . \v 


* « . ' * 

V ' 





*> N o C' l ’ll’ 

: mi/h a 

Z 


wM •- .v> % • 

h&r* <A * 


a V A % * esr ^ ^ 

J <*• ’■ 7 0 * V * A 

~ A* ,y X A°* «V A-, f vr x ^ -f ^ 

* A*, v* •** \ '#>£#%, y 3 v ^ 

-*. v- > * « oo' » ^Vrrtr.A y r* 


r> S -V * * 

O *> . S «0 ^ 

'A* ' 4 it s 'S \ I 11 u X 

V ?•> rP' V* ^,,*-t 





x' xV % . S3 


CQ V' 1 
- : 


Vff © 

. —I^fyiy -< .■> ,’ ri' y tt . , __ 

°v-_ »•■'* \> v o- >*% *’«• y a * «,'%. * • ■ 

* :^m\ :MA\ % 

• A^‘ A> : %m>’--/ ■*' A 


y \\- 

</> *vV 
cf' >V 


o 


A 






. r '- r ; 




s ^ A>' , <y 0 ’ K A v . c o 

- 0 v * v 1 fi * .y » *■ 

& s^.av ^' 1 . <y a * 

^ ^ : _ 

,0 a ^ 

$ *<• j. 


N O' 


cP ". 1 IF S .v 

A° v 

y A ° 


,-o v x 


C ^ *&■ 


« , * " 
■>. \V ?yf, ^ 


•N* ^ 

» , ii 4 '' 

v\- s y_y 


C‘ 


<^ y 


'P 

<*■ ,v, <t- 

^ ° ^ r; , 

C, yy> 7 y^V 
vT -%t. %’ ■>.?.' 

y ; , . , ^\o-./V 

' t J - f"& » V ^tN(S ^ -2 


❖ 

, - o * 0 1 1 ^ v y~ , «, "y 

.<? v »'■ *•, '%- V> ,'lrfwV > 

^ , V A. ^ -SsBl * 

s- ^rfCx^Ao ^ yv - 


/ 


I 8 jf 


-y^ - ^ ^ 




= $ 




\° °x. 


► > 

i Vi >v--\. 0 - 

> y.'*»,’^c. ■• V „ ' 

' ' - - « v 

^ %<• V, «4 

ANVttrW// 7 /? of* <\' 

_ c, M//t 

.y y ° ^ 

;> y/^s/^ s^ .y v - % yr_ ^ . 

<•' 1 s ^ *W m * v ./ y^; y% 

** ✓ 






cP ^ 


0 ^ / 




y N o> ' «3 


* 77 . •' / , . . , V' * » h . ’■ y; v .. , ;%' *•■'* '/ v 0 • • , ;i 

>> .• y >#w% y -V s ^ y* **> ^ * 


.y 1 r I 

of* t*^' 


mf' /y : » 



- y - ^ 


‘V , , 

y- ' 0 4 V * A 
«. v ' 8 ♦ a A c o-o 

,' OK*. \<‘ <• y , 




A ’C<> o 
V * o 

o ^ / A, s s A x y y o * k * s 

0 N '■ ^ U , 0 V s*'' B % ^ 


\ 


o c< , s' 








